


What would you do?

by freakofnature



Series: What Would You Do Verse [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overdosing, Rehabilitation, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 46,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakofnature/pseuds/freakofnature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Life’s hard. I should know. I didn’t have the best one; in fact, it sucked. Though, so many years later, I know it could have been worse. I could have killed myself the first time.  Kuroo didn’t have to find me, to reach out for me like he did. I hated it then, I hated him; trying to help a kid he hadn’t seen for 12 years. And in that 12 years that kid, me, had become broken--I thought i wasn't worth saving. But 8 years later, I’m thankful. That he got to me at the time he did. If it was any later, I would have been dead; but any earlier and I know I wouldn’t have opened up to him. It does get better. You may hate it as it happens, and better doesn’t mean it’s quickly, but think about where you are now, and then in five years, eight years, maybe ten, look back and see how much you have grown and hopefully, with a little help from others and the belief that you can get out, you will be in a better place.</i><br/>--Kenma Kozume<br/>(on hiatus due to military reasons)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Over and Over

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyy welcome to my first super fucking long multichap fic that ran away from me. if ur new, then this fic was supposed to only be 15 chapters max but as u can see, it isnt done (or like close really) and i also had zero plans for it to reach almost 40k words. i'm about as shocked as u are? If u came here from my happier ficlettes i have written im REALLY sorry to say that this is super fucking sad. if u have read my other rather sad and kinda fucked up ficlettes then u will do fine in this fic. 
> 
> I have very little experience with the heavy stuff that is used/said/dealt with in this fic. This is based off other works i have read that deal with this shit as well as some research. 
> 
> Thank you to Authoress who helped me flesh this fic out when i was struggling and made me sit down and write a 16 page outline (and i just realized i never added in some shit i wanted to with kenma whoops so its likely like 18 pages now). (If you havent read Authoress's works, please do his Kagehina PacRim AU is godly) 
> 
> Also thank you to Nico (kanekikenny on tumblr) for making this [playlist](http://8tracks.com/alphaidiot/what-would-you-do) for me. It's amazing and i highly recommend listening to it while reading this (if u can). To listen to just the song that inspired this fic you can listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceYjUymR-wo). 
> 
> Each chapter from Kuroo's POV will be from the 'What would you do' playlist while things from Kenma's POV will be from a playlist Nico ALSO made called 'Dirty and Dangerous'. FYI u should just listen to all of Nico's playlists they are perfect. all of them. one for every mood you could possibly be in
> 
> anyways i hope yall enjoy this fic. if you notice any mistakes in spelling/i used a different word entirely/i fucked something up hardcore tell me!  
> my tumblr is [toorumutsukii](http://toorumutsukii.tumblr.com). and my twitter is also toorumutsukii!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Remember the days when we used to?_   
> _But I don't feel them over and over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now with lovely [art](http://skeletonsatans.tumblr.com/post/99791622114). thank u so much ur too kind
> 
> also i'll be tracking the tag on tumblr 'fic: what would you do' so if u have anything to talk to me about or smth regarding the fic itself (or u want to get ahold of me b/c my urls change often) that would likely be the place to do so.

          Sitting behind a desk piled with manuscripts on top of manuscripts, Kuroo felt like he was going a good job at being an adult. At 28 years old, he worked two jobs, one of which made him hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. Pushing up his glasses, he continued to write on the paper in front of him, adding words where he felt was necessary and making little correction in grammar or if words were there without needing to be.

          “Kuroo!” his hand jerked across the page with a muffled curse and Kuroo didn’t have time to look up before an arm came down around his shoulders, steel gray eyes suddenly in his face, “Kuroo you are going out with us tonight, right?” Blinking slowly, Kuroo’s lips turned into a frown. This was the first time he had heard about going out, and frankly he didn’t want to. He wanted to go home, open up his laptop, and write. But those damn _eyes_. And that damn tone of voice.

         “And why would I do that? First of all, get off of me, idiot. I was _working_ ,” the offending arm was removed—thankfully—only to have the idiot person carefully move Kuroo’s work and sit on his desk. Kuroo was certain that if he could perch on the damn thing like the idiot owl he was, he would do it. Fortunately for him, he had too much work on his desk for his friend to do that.

         “Um, ‘cause you ain’t writing anymore and you need a damn break. Come on, Kuroo. Everyone misses you, _I_ miss you. Doesn’t that count for anything anymore?”

         “Nope,” the grin on his face softened the blow of his words, and with an overdramatic Bokuto Pout™ his friend hopped off his desk and with a cry, raced over to one of the other desks. Kuroo swiveled in his kickass swivel chair to watch Bokuto’s theatrics.

         “Akaashi! Kuroo is so _mean_ to me! What did I ever do to him?” his friend wailed. Kuroo snorted out a laugh as Akaashi had to catch the gray haired idiot in his arms, eyes narrowed in annoyance, “Are we no longer friends?” he cried out.

          Kuroo saw the heavy huff come from his bosses desk and snorted again, turning around so he could hopefully get some work done before Bokuto was flung off by the other and came crawling back to him.

         “We no longer are going to be dating if you distract me from my work, Bokuto,” Kuroo heard Akaashi say, and unable to stop himself, he let out a burst of laughter, shoulders shaking from the force of it. “Please go work, I’m sure Kuroo would love to come with us tonight.” Oh Kurro _hated_ him, “Am I right, Kuroo?”

         Not even bothering to turn around, he just waved a finger in the air, hearing the pair chuckle at him before the office area return to its quiet state yet again.

         “Wait, Kuroo, you’re coming with us? Finally got off your high horse and decided to join us non-famous folk, huh?”

         “Just go back to work, Lev. I will uninvited you.” Ordered Akaashi, ignoring the whine that came from the taller boy.

* * *

 

         “For reals man, it’s been like ages since you hung with us, we missed your sarcasm.” Lev chuckled as he tossed back rum and coke, licking his lips as Bokuto curled his lip at the sight, “It’s nice to see you again, two years later.”

         “Put a damn sock in it Lev. Don’t make me take unneeded vacation time just so Akaashi can give you my workload.” The threat was offset by Kuroo’s smirk. They had ended up in the club they had frequented forever, long before Kuroo knew who Yaku and Lev _were_. Long enough that they almost always had a table at the place, a little booth that fit them comfortably. It was not near the stage where the dancers (strippers really, but Kuroo really didn’t like that term. It seemed so degrading) but they could see the stage if they turned around and watched.

         “Ey! Kuroo came back!” a hard clap on his shoulder almost made him spit out his beer, and with a glare in the direction of his offender, flipped them off as he swallowed his drink.

         “What the _fuck_ Saeko, is that a way to treat a loyal customer?” he grumbled, setting down his mug.

         “Uh, yeah. Considerin’ your pale ass hasn’t shown up in like two years. We were wonderin’ bout ya.” With swift movements, Saeko filled Kuroo’s mug of beer, and then turned to switch out Lev and Bokuto’s drinks—coke and rum, and a strawberry martini, “Lil one over here told that you were workin’ on another book? How’d it go?”

          Kuroo shrugged, “Well it’s another bestseller alright. I’m swamped with dodging phone calls from my publisher to pick up a few interviews for it. It’s the last thing I want.” The table chuckled at that, knowing full well how much Kuroo hated going on television. The first time it had happened, many female readers had called him a heart-throb and tried to figure out where he lived. It was terrifying.

         Saeko was a good waitress as well as bartender, but the club was always packed on Friday nights, so with a brisk farewell, she vanished and the boys were left to their own devices once more.

         “Honestly I’m not sure how you can drink that shit, Lev. It’s like disgusting.” Bokuto made a vague gesture to the Russian’s drink, sipping on his pink concoction with a smile.

         “The same way you drink that fruity gay drink filled with more sugar than actual alcohol,” Lev had sneered, sniffing as he took a small sip of his drink.

         “Actually Lev, Bokuto’s drink most likely has more alcohol in it due to the fact that—”

         “Yaku, dammit, don’t fuel the fire,” Kuroo reached across the table and slapped his hand across the brunet’s mouth, eyes wide. Luckily for all of them, Lev shrugged it off and Bokuto turned to whisper dirty things in Akaashi’s ear.

         After some time, Bokuto and Akaashi slipped out of the booth, light flushes on both of their cheeks, and said they were going to go dancing. Waving them off, Kuroo mumbled about how gay they were, tapping the side of his empty mug with his nails.

         “How much do you bet they aren’t dancing but Akaashi’s grinding his ass against Bokuto’s?” Lev inquired as he watched them disappear into the masses

          “All of my royalties that I have ever gotten.” Kuroo shot back with a grin, the two of them laughing as they clacked their empty glasses together, Yaku sighing off to the side.

         The three of them talk for some time, long enough that Bokuto and Akaashi come back and join them, this time with shots. Kuroo tries to decline but when Bokuto, Lev _and_ Akaashi gang up on him, declaring that they weren’t going to be under 30 much longer, Kuroo takes a few himself. He rediscovers how much he loathes vodka in that moment, and vows to never do shots again.

         Around midnight there are dancers that start coming out and mingle with the crowd as well as dance up on stage. Some days they have shows where each dancer goes up and performs a song and people can come up and throw money on the stage, while other days they just filter in and out to dance with everyone else to have a good time. Kuroo rarely pays them any mind, he didn’t care for dancers nor did he want to pay to take one of them home or into one of the private rooms the club had in the back.

         “Oh he’s adorable. Skinny, but cute.” Yaku nudges Lev in the side, jerking his head toward the stage, “Maybe I can take him home and put some meat on those bones, he looks like he is about to snap in half!” Kuroo watches Lev chuckle, ducking down to kiss Yaku’s temple, calling him a mother hen as he did so. Unlike Bokuto and Akaashi, these two were less affectionate and rarely showed each other affection in public.

         Turning his head so Yaku wouldn’t catch him staring (and by default blush and push Lev away) Kuroo looked out into the sea of dancers—professional and nonprofessional mingling in a mob, bodies grinding against each other.  Blond and black catches his eye in the dim lighting, and Kuroo shifts his gaze over, breath catching in his throat. _Kenma_. He looked almost the same. He just as skinny as he was back then, which Kuroo thought was pretty unhealthy to begin with. His golden eyes looked glassy and his body shimmered with sweat. Kuroo couldn’t take his eyes off of him as he watched the blond boy grind against the pole that was on the stage, his head thrown back and mouth open as if he was gasping at the contact. Biting his lip, Kuroo was just about to turn back and distract himself when those golden eyes turned and locked with his.

         Now to be fair, Kuroo was certain that Kenma couldn’t really tell it was him. Kuroo was on the other side of the dance mob, which while it wasn’t particularly large, it created enough distance between them that Kenma _could_ have not been looking at him. But the way his dance stuttered and froze for the briefest of moments told Kuroo that while Kenma might not know it was actually him, his appearance reminded Kenma of someone he knew, and caused a reaction that warranted messing up his dance. Turning, Kuroo picked up his mug again, and drank quickly from it, hearing Lev’s laughing comment on how he found a cute boy to fuck and wanted to take home. Putting the now empty mug down, Kuroo didn’t confirm or deny Lev’s statement, only smirking and giving a shrug of his shoulders.

         Yaku and Lev manage to distract Kuroo long enough that when he looks back to the stage, Kenma isn’t there. Not long after Bokuto comes bounding back, clearly a little too drunk, with a pleased and red faced Akaashi in tow. The other members of their party don’t make a sex comment because seeing Akaashi smile—even just a little bit like he was right now—was rare and no one wanted to see it disappear. Being the overly affectionate drunk he was, Kuroo laughed as Bokuto wetly kissed his cheek, swatting him off with a grin on his face. Smirking back, Bokuto turned to kiss his boyfriend, but Akaashi evaded the move and climbed over Kuroo to sit next to Yaku, well away from Bokuto’s puckered lips. They all erupt into laughter as the owl boy sits next to Kuroo and sulkily sips at his martini.

         For a moment Kuroo feels as if he is in college again. Going out with Bokuto and Akaashi to escape from his writing and the impending doom of finals and tests and _school_. Getting so drunk that they don’t remember going home, but waking up with no clothes and snuggling under the covers. Kuroo feels like he did after his first book made it big, elated and happy and so _young_. He feels like he isn’t anywhere close to 30, but closer to 20 and never wanting to look back into his past. For a moment, Kuroo forgets what it’s like to be an adult and it feels great.

         It’s around two in the morning when they decide to call it a night. Bokuto had taken to whispering dirty things to Akaashi, which would have been fine if Kuroo wasn’t in between the two of them. Yaku was drunk enough to allow Lev to hold his hand—a rare thing that only happened if one of them was jealous or needed the comfort. Laughing that everyone needed to go home before they all just fucked on their table, Kuroo ushered them all out, ignoring their drunken mumbles that they still had to pay their tab. He hugged Yaku goodnight and ruffled his hair, snorting loudly (hey, he was drunk too, just not as shit-faced as his friends. Beer only did so much). Lev got a nod, the kid was too tall and Kuroo always ended up with a face full of Lev’s collarbone, which he was never cool with. Bokuto got an overly friendly hug, their laughter echoing in front of the club, and late night passer-byers staring judging them. Akaashi got the same treatment, coupled with a smooch to his forehead and a loud ‘be safe use a condom tonight, kids’ which earned him an Akaashi Glare, but Kuroo was immune to those so it didn’t matter.

         With his friends gone, Kuroo slipped around the back of the club, hoping that Kenma hadn’t left yet and he could ask the bodyguard if he could speak to him. All he wanted to do was talk. Talk and hug him and scream at him _why did you leave me_.

         “Yo!” he calls to the big hulk of a man standing guard by the backdoor to the club, “Is the blondie still there?” he snorts and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it already was, “Kenma. That’s his name.”

         The guard only blinks at him, cold eyes raking up and down his body. Kuroo almost made a joke that if he wanted his dick, he could get some, but he realized soon enough that the man was ensuring that Kuroo wasn’t some super fucking drunk dude who was going to attack him or something.

         “I really. I just want to talk to him. I know who he is, I want to make sure he’s okay.” He continues lamely, “Is he here? Can I talk to him?”

         “He left about an hour ago.” The statement was rough and to the point, those eyes never leaving Kuroo’s body.

         Sagging, Kuroo sighs loudly, grumbling about how he should have left his friends sooner (but knowing he would have never done that, he loves his friends too much). Meeting those cold eyes again, Kuroo thanks the bodyguard, telling him that he would return at some point much less drunk and a hell of a lot more coherent in his wording. The guard just nods at him, telling Kuroo to have a good night as he stumbles off back home.

         The routine of going to work and then hitting up the club lasts for two weeks. Long enough to manage to befriend the giant bodyguard—he was at least an inch taller than him and two times his bulk he swore on it. His name was Aone, and one evening Kuroo discovered he had no eyebrows. He had laughed about it, worried that the guard was going to get angry with him, but peeking at his face, Kuroo saw the smallest tilt of Aone’s lips and knew he had some sort of friendship with the bodyguard. Over the two weeks, Kuroo had learned that Aone was a fan of his books, and promised that he would bring a pen if Aone brought a book for him to sign. It was funny in its own way—meeting a fan because he was kind of stalking a boy he knew from his childhood in hopes of figuring out why he disappeared all those years ago. He makes Aone promise to not tell the internet what where he lives, there were enough fans in where he lived now that he didn’t want to add to the growing population of Kuroo Tetsurou stalkers. Really, he had enough.

         The final night Kuroo turns up, a smile on his face  because he would get to talk to Aone and the younger boy was always interesting to speak with, there was another boy standing next to the giant. He looked like he could have been 12, standing next to the 6’3 monster, but Kuroo was smart enough to realize that the boy must have been another stripper. Someone who worked with Kenma.

         “Good evening,” he greeted the both of them, nodding at each of them in turn.

         “Hi!” the other boy shouted, a smile on his face as he looked at Kuroo, “Wow, you’re really attractive! I didn’t think you would be this good looking.” When Kuroo just stared at him, mostly in shock but also because the boy didn’t seem to have a filter on his mouth, the ginger child stuck out his hand, “Sorry, nice to meet you. My name is Hinata.”

         “Kuroo,” he returned, shaking the smaller hand with a polite smile on his face, “I’m going to guess that you work with Kenma?” at the boy’s nod, Kuroo hummed, “Are you going to tell me I can’t come here anymore?” another nod, “Can I ask why?”

         A huff left the boy as if it was a chore to actually tell Kuroo why he couldn’t come around anymore, “Kenma doesn’t want you to, that’s why. He feels _super_ _duper_ uncomfortable knowing that you come around and it makes him dance all weirdly and it’s like he scared and I’m his best friend EVER, so like I have to protect him from people like you and I just don’t want to see him hurt anymore!” Hinata paused to take a breath and Kuroo stood there, a little amazed at how much the boy could _talk_ , “This really might just be a waste of time for you, but this is our life, and we don’t appreciate it when people pester us.” The ginger boy frowned and stared up at Kuroo, “I don’t really know why you want to see Kenma so much, but can you please leave him alone. If his weird behavior continues, Ukai might have to fire him and he’ll be really upset. I don’t want that.”

         He hadn’t thought about that. That his presence would bother Kenma that much. Frowning, Kuroo nodded, “you seem to be a good friend to Kenma, looking after him like that,” he commented with a soft voice, a small smile on his face, “Tell him that I’m happy he found someone that takes care of him so well, okay?” Hinata grinned up at him and nodded, “Alright, well. I guess I’m outta here. It was nice meeting you Hinata,” he turned to look at the bodyguard, “See you around, big guy.” he got a grunt in reply and snorted.

       Kuroo sighed as he left the back door of the club, heading home. He didn’t go back the next day, or the next, and slowly he tried to forget that Kenma even lived in the same city as him.

* * *

 

         “Kageyams, I want a chai tea, with a shot of espresso,” he called entering the small café, his laptop in hand, “Actually make it two, I’m exhausted.”

         “How did you even know I was on duty, it could have easily been Yachi. Do you want to make her cry with your dumbass attitude?” Kageyama barked at him a scowl on his face, “just come up to the cashier counter like a regular person instead of shouting your damn order as soon as you walk in the door, idiot.”

         Settling himself on one of the barstools, Kuroo smiles and tilts his head, “But Kageyams, how else would I ensure that my drink was ready as soon as I sat down and got out my money? Besides if it was Yachi I wouldn’t have shouted, she’s a precious snowflake and deserves more respect that you will ever get.” He laughed at the deepening scowl on the baristas face, and as soon as his drink was finished, he reached over the counter and plucked it from Kageyama’s hand, thanking him with a grin and taking a long sip, “What if I told you I wanted this iced?” he commented idly, opening up his laptop and booting it up.

         “I would take that mug and dump it all over you and your damn laptop,” Kageyama replied without missing a beat. Kuroo’s eyes shot up to stare at the boy, but he was busy cleaning his work area to notice, “and then I wouldn’t refund your money.”

         “Rude.” Kuroo scoffed, returning his eyes to his laptop screen. Soon the only sounds in the café were the faint sound of music and Kuroo typing away at his keyboard, eyes scanning the words as he wrote them out. He had no idea what to write for his next book, but any sort of idea always got written, just to see if he could incorporate it into his next book, even if it was just a little bit.

         The door chimed to the café door opening and closing quite a few times, but Kuroo paid the customers no mind, lost in his own world where all that existed was him in this quiet café with an annoying barista by the name of Kageyama, aka Kageyams (it had been a slip of the tongue one day and Kuroo liked saying it, despite how much Kageyama did _not_ like it).

          “One black coffee, three sugars,” the soft voice cut through Kuroo’s concentration like butter, and his fingers stilled on the keyboard. That voice. He knew it. From somewhere. He had to have. Was it a voice he heard on television? No it wasn’t a voice he heard recently. Kuroo wanted to turn to look at the customer, but the last time he did that, he had been studying their features and had zoned out in the middle of it, scaring the young lady. Kageyama had yelled at him to just ignore the customers and wait until they were seated before he creeped them out or something.

         But when Kuroo tried to find the owner of the voice when he turned around, he saw the exact same people he had when he last turned to look around the café. “Hey Kageyams?” Kuroo waited until the barista was down making a drink, handing it off to a waiting customer with a small smile, “Who just ordered the black coffee?”

         “A customer, why?” the cheeky smile on the young boy’s face made Kuroo want to rub if off with his hand, to push those lips into that deep frown that Kageyama wore so much. It was so much better than this smug look. Little brat.

         “Okay _smartass_ , who was he, his voice sounded familiar.” Kageyama shrugged again, “do you not have a name or something, idiot barista?”

         “Yeah well you’re an idiot writer,” Kageyama shot back, frowning when he realized that he fell into Kuroo’s trap, “I hate you so much,” he said as he cleaned up his work area again, “and no, I don’t know his name. Pays with cash every time. And his order isn’t that complicated so I don’t need a name to make it. Not many people want a black coffee with two sugars.”

         Humming, Kuroo went back to his typing, trying to figure out who the voice belonged to, “Do you know what he looks like?”

         “Why are we playing twenty questions, Kuroo? Do you stalk this guy or something? He your long time crush?”

         Scoffing Kuroo rolled his eyes, handing Kageyama his empty mug so the boy could clean it, “No, I just know I know that voice, so I want to figure it out. Now are you going to help me, or am I going to walk around this café and ask every single person in here to speak for me until I figure it out?”

         After a staring match with those dark navy eyes, Kageyama relented with a sigh and put Kuroo’s mug on the rack to dry, “He has blond hair, but his roots show through way too much. I asked him about it once, and he mumbled that it was some sort of aesthetic. Personally I just think he’s too poor to buy bleach all the time.”

_Kenma_.

         “Ah, how much is his drink? How often does he come in? No, Kageyama this is _not_ 20 questions, don’t ask again,” Kuroo frowned deeply and the barista snapped his mouth shut, waiting for Kuroo to finish, “I’ll pay for his drinks form now on.”

         “Uh, well considering you just offered to pay for his drinks, I’ll have you know he doesn’t come in very often. He’s sporadic, like you. It just depends.”

         “Cool, I’ll still pay for his drinks. Just put it on my tab.”

         Kageyama laughed loudly, and a few patrons turned to look at him. shoulder still heaving with laugher, Kageyama covered his mouth, muffling the sounds as best he could. “Oh my god, Kuroo. Seriously?”

         Pausing in his typing once again, Kuroo looked up to look at the giggling boy, “What?”

         “We aren’t a bar, you can’t just make a tab. It’s a coffee shop. _Karasuno Coffee Shop_ not _Karasuno Coffee Bar_. We don’t make tabs.”

         “Well start? I want to pay for his drinks. You know I’m a huge reason this thing is so popular.” Kuroo sneered at Kageyama, “Let me do as a please, I’ll pay back the tab every month or something, god.”

         Throwing up his hands, Kageyama glared at Kuroo. He couldn’t even tell Kuroo _no_. he was a huge reason the café had gotten more business. Locals started to come in, and fans of Kuroo’s mystery books liked to check out the place if they were in town for some reason or another. All because the dumbass writer had given the place a shout out for their good coffee.

         “Do we have a deal, Kageyama?” the smirk on Kuroo’s face did nothing to quell the anger he could see on the younger boy’s face, and that did nothing but make him smile more, “Or should I take my business somewhere else?”

         “Fine whatever I don’t care, if I get in trouble I’m blaming you, I hope you realize that.”

         “That’s okay, I’m sure your boss will be elated when I make another shout out to this little place. Better get a few more employees soon, Kageyams, who knows when my next book comes out.” Kuroo laughed, and Kageyama stared at him before throwing his dish towel at the laughing man.

         “Shut up, people will assume you’re crazy or something. And then I’ll be crazy for talking to you.”

         Handing the rag back to the barista, Kuroo gave a smaller smile and shrugged his shoulders. His fingers touched down on the keyboard again, and soon he was writing quietly. “Aren’t we all a little crazy, Kageyams?” he said after some time, breaking the silence that had covered them.

         “I hate you.” Kageyama muttered before he turned to help another customer, a fake smile plastered on his face.

         Kuroo just grinned and continued typing. Today was a good day.


	2. Where Have You Been?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I wished I'd known that you were bleeding while I sat_   
> _and watched you reading with the lord_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um? Thank u for the kudos u are v nice and i do not deserve them.  
> bless ur hearts
> 
> also there is little angst for quite some time b/c lol build up? but w/e. enjoy kuroo being a douchebag and kenma having social issues. 
> 
> if only i could write this in his pov

          Two weeks passed without Kenma showing up. Or at least without Kuroo noticing or being there. Kageyama had said he had shown up once, but didn’t really comment anything else about it.

         “Hey Kage?” Kuroo didn’t look up from his screen, so when he got no response he figured the boy wasn’t in front of the counter. A quick glance up confirmed that Kageyama _was_ doing something, just ignoring him, “Kage?”

         “Not my name, Ku,” Kageyama sneered, snorting at the disgusted look on Kuroo’s face, “Yeah that’s how it feels shortening my name, asshole. Call me correctly and maybe I’ll answer you.”

         “ _Fine_ ,” Kuroo huffs loudly, making a mini scene about the fact that he stopped typing, “ _Kageyams_ ,” he says with complete seriousness, grinning at the murderous look the raven shoots him, “Can I have another coffee?”

         Kageyama grumbles as he always does, which makes Kuroo smile a little more—he really wishes he could reach over and pat Kageyama’s head but his arms are not that long and Kageyama is not that short, so—and washes out his mug before turning back around.

         “What did you want? Just coffee?”

         Shrugging, Kuroo goes back to typing, “Surprise me, I’m writing about these college students finding a dead body in their dorm room despite none of them being home that weekend.” Kageyama gives him a look that spells out the fact that Kuroo gave too much information, but busies himself with making his surprise coffee.

         “What happened? Who did it?” After years of frequenting the place, Kageyama knew when Kuroo was writing a book and when he was just fucking around to see if something stuck. Often times when he was writing a book, he wouldn’t show up to the café, only coming to place orders of certain drinks to-go so he could drink them late into the night.

         “Hmm, female RA brutally raped and murdered. Dumped into these kid’s rooms. Who do you think it was?” Kageyama placed the coffee in front of Kuroo and Kuroo hummed in his thanks, picking it up and taking a sip, “vanilla coffee with the barest hint of pumpkin. Cinnamon flavored foam.” He hums again, taking another sip.

         “Ah, oh. Was it one of the kids? He put her there before he left or something and then pretended like it never happened?”

         “But the body was fresh.”

         “Came home early to kill her and _then_ left or something and acted all surprised.”

         Kuroo laughed and shook his head, “Good guess. It was the male RA. I have no motive yet, but I know that much.” He took another sip of his latte and sighed, “You make the best coffee, Kageyams. I’ll pay you to be my personal coffee maker.”

         The door chimes as Kageyama snorts, “In your dreams.” He mutters before returning to the cashier counter with a slight smile.

         A few hours later—Kuroo decided on the killer murdering her because she turned him down—the door chimes and a soft voice speaks from a few feet away.

         “Just coffee please,” the blond boy he knows is Kenma murmurs before turning around and walking to his table.

         Kuroo breaks his own rules (more like Kageyama’s rules but not really) and turns to stare at the boy, his breath hitching in his throat. He looks so _frail_ in the daylight. Clothes baggy on his frame, shoes looking worse for wear. Kenma pauses in the middle of the café and sighs; much like Kuroo does when his spot is taken. The boy shuffles to an open table, and gingerly places his body on the seat.

         “He doesn’t normally look this bad,” Kageyama startles him from his staring, and Kuroo turns back with is bottom lip in his mouth, “He actually looks ill.”

         “Give him a ginger-honey tea then. That will help him.” Kuroo casts a quick glance back behind him to see the boy biting at his fingers, “And some of your apple pie.” He says to Kageyama, a worried set to his lips.

         “Got it, boss,” Kageyama teases lightly, smiling when Kuroo’s lips tilt up.

         Cracking his knuckles, Kuroo takes a sip of the fourth coffee he has ordered since he sat down, before his fingers land gently on his laptop’s keyboard. Gingerly he presses down on one letter, and then another, and soon his fingers are flying over the keyboard, filling the air in the small café with the sounds of his typing and Kageyama’s cleaning of the coffee machinery.

         “Um, excuse me.” Though he knows its Kenma, he _knows_ it; Kuroo doesn’t pause in his typing to stare at the boy. That would rude and Kageyama would get angry and really he does like the boy, and incurring Kageyama’s wrath is super fucking scary. He did it once. _Never again_.

         “Kuroo.” His gaze snaps up to stare at Kageyama, an apology on his lips. But Kageyama’s eyes slide away from him, and Kuroo’s head follows his line of vision, almost jumping when he sees Kenma right next to him.

         “Hi,” he breathes out, cursing himself for sounding so desperate. But really he _was_ so, whatever. Just, whatever.

         “I can,” those golden eyes aren’t looking at him, looking anywhere but _at_ him and it hurts him so much, it makes Kuroo want to grab his face and force Kenma to see him, to see how upset he has been for _twelve fucking years_ , but he just kindly gives a smile when those eyes skim over him, “I can…pay for myself. You know that. Right?”

         Oh. This had nothing to do with hanging out or talking. He was just bitching about free coffee. Free drinks. Seriously. “Sorry,” Kuroo laughs humorlessly but softly as to not scare the boy in front of him, “I figured you would never talk to me, so I wanted to do something nice for you.”

        “What if…I don’t want you to?” Kenma stares at him for a moment, regarding his facial expressions and for a moment Kuroo wishes he was like Kageyama or Akaashi or Yaku—able to keep their emotions from showing on his damn face.

         “Well that’s too fucking bad.” It comes out harsher than he meant to, but the point is all the same, “You’re getting free coffee, Kenma. Just accept it. It’s not going to kill you.” Those eyes are staring at him again and Kuroo almost screams in frustration but he manages _not_ to, only pointedly turning around and going back to his writing, knowing full well that Kenma was still there.

         A minute or two passes before Kenma speaks again, “I don’t like it.”

         “Too bad.” Kuroo doesn’t look at the boy but he frowns at his screen all the same, “Are you done?” He doesn’t get a response as much as the boy finally walks away, and Kuroo’s body sags against his seat, as if he had just run a marathon. In a way, he had.

         “What the hell was that?” Kageyama leans against the counter and peers at him, worry apparent in those blue eyes, “I thought you wanted to be _friends_.

         Kuroo laughs again, a little louder and a little more sardonically, “I’m not sure what I want. I want to hit him and I want answers. But I also want him safe and happy.”

          When Kageyama frowns at him, Kuroo grabs his empty coffee mug and pushes it at him, “Can I get a refill, please?”

* * *

 

         Maybe it’s a way to piss Kenma off more—that way the boy would talk to him and Kuroo could maybe get it across that yeah he does want to be friends but he’s about as shitty of a person as Kenma remembers—if not more so—but he starts buying gift cards to random places when he gets out of the house, handing them off to Kageyama to give to Kenma (if Kageyama snuck one here or there, he never really cared) when he came in. Kenma never confronted him about it, and Kuroo went on with pampering the small boy. After a while he stuck with restaurant gift cards and clothing stores just to drive the point home that Kenma really needed fitting clothing and food on his bones.

         When he isn’t at the café—which is a lot less than it really sounds like, Kuroo _does_ in fact have a life (as small as it is)—he is at work.

         Editing books.

         So okay, his life really isn’t that exciting, but he wasn’t in the middle of writing an actual book and therefore wasn’t off around the country—maybe going international if it called for it—for research. How Kuroo got into a lot of the things he did, he isn’t really sure. Maybe the fact that he hasn’t spilled his guts about some information he _knows_ is case sensitive has floated around and now he can get into even _more_ top secret information. But the information he really wants, he isn’t sure he will ever get. Not in the near future anyway.

         But books. Editing.

         Kuroo was good at that. Books didn’t give him doubtful looks, didn’t backsass him (not really), nor did books give him mixed feelings. Well they did do that, but not in the sense he was talking about. And to be honest, Kuroo rarely had a bad book on his desk. Maybe not the best writing—switching of points of view—but nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a few extra paragraphs or a deletion of a few words. The firm he worked for really knew how to pick good writers. Funnily enough, it wasn’t _his_ publishing firm.

         “Hey, Kuroo?”

         Kuroo hummed, putting his pen down as he looked up, catching Bokuto’s gaze, “What’s up buttercup?” he answered back, a smile playing on his lips.

         Bokuto snorts at him, “Nothing much, honey bunches of oats,” He laughed as Kuroo’s lip wrinkled in disgust, “Won that round.”

         “Whatever, asshole. What do you want. Distracting me from work. Again? Akaashi is gonna start withholding sex from you if you don’t pick it up.”

         Bokuto made a pained noise and Kuroo grinned as his best friend’s gaze slid over to Akaashi’s desk, lingering for a moment, “First off that was totally uncalled for, and second of all I just wanted your advice. God you’re such a douchebag. Why are we friends?”

         Kuroo plucked the papers from his owl buddy and looked then over, “Why did you say so, _pal_. I’m always glad to help. Now, it seems like you put a comma _here_ when in reality it should have been….”

* * *

 

         “Hey you got a little message from the blond.” It’s the first thing Kageyama tells him when Kuroo walks into the café for the first time in weeks, the smell of pumpkin hitting him like a tidal wave.

         Kuroo would be lying if he said those words didn’t have an effect on him. He would be a fucking _liar_ if he ever claimed that he didn’t walk faster.

         “What does it say?” he said as calmly as possible, his mind running through all the things that Kenma could have written to him. Anything from ‘I want to talk’ to ‘leave me alone or a call the police’ could be plausible.

         “I don’t know, I didn’t look. I’m not nosey like _some_ people.” A little piece of paper was flicked at him, and Kageyama busied himself with making Kuroo a chai tea, “Do you want pumpkin foam?”

         “Fuck no,” Kuroo wasn’t a fan of pumpkin. A hint of it here or there, sure, but as a drink or in flavored foam? No way. He was totally a peppermint sort of guy.

         _Thank you for the cards_

         “Thank you. For the cards.” He said aloud, a smile splitting his face.

         “What? Okay stop smiling like that you look creepy.” Kageyama placed his mug next to his unopened laptop and Kuroo scoffed, looking up to stare at the barista.

         “Me? Creepy when I smile? No you have the wrong person, it is _you_ that is fucking creepy. You look like a damn serial murder—”

         “You got my letter. I…I gave that to the worker weeks ago…did you forget…” the soft-spoken words halted Kuroo’s teasing and he looked to the side to see Kenma fiddling with his shirt, clearly much cleaner and _much_ newer than the one Kuroo had seen on him before.

         “Ah!” Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “No, no, Kageyams didn’t forget. I just got swamped with work so this is the first time I’ve come in for a couple of weeks.” He laughed, though it sounded much like the laugh of an awkward 18 year old boy and not the laugh of an adult. A 28 year old _adult_. God he was so dumb.

         “Oh.” Is all Kenma says, but he stays rooted to the spot, so Kuroo knows that there is something else on the tip of his tongue.

         “Kageyams, make Kenma a pumpkin latte, not too hot,” he watches Kenma give a little start. _Yeah I remember how much you hate super hot shit_ Kuroo inwardly beams. He was a writer, and therefore he remembered every tiny detail. It totally was not because of the fact that he committed everything Kenma did to memory to see if there was a pattern to why he ran away and he _definitely_ did not cry himself to sleep for three whole weeks. No way. He was much cooler than that.

         “But I don’t _need_ ,” Kenma starts but pauses as Kuroo pats the seat next to him.

         “I won’t bite, and the drink is on me anyways, so just drink it.” Kenma waits for another few moments before he slowly moves, sitting on the barstool, legs swinging in the free air.

         “So, what’s up,” Kuroo starts, sipping at his chai, “do you need a specific sort of card more than others?” Kenma nods, “Food or clothes?”

         “Food…can I have, um, grocery store cards?” his little hands grip at his coffee mug, and those precious golden eyes dart to his for just the briefest of moments before they are staring into the foam, “If that isn’t too hard for you.”

         Kuroo wants to laugh, and he wants to cry, but instead he just shakes his head, “No, it’s fine, I can do that. Is there anything else? Do you just want grocery cards for a while or do you want clothing cards still?”

         “…both…please,”

         Kuroo nods again and takes a long sip of his drink, grumbling lowly when he empties it. Lucky for him, Kageyama has another one ready for him, and tosses him a ‘good-luck’ grin before moving out of ear shot. Sometimes Kuroo thinks that Kageyama is an angel from the heavens above.

         Kuroo keeps the stilted conversation going for a few hours, fueled only by refills on both of their drinks—Kenma mumbling a thanks once and asking for an extra shot of pumpkin flavoring another time—and Kuroo asking questions here and there. Most of the time is spent in silence, Kuroo typing away at his laptop. He wishes, not for the first time this evening, that he had artistic ability and was able to sketch how Kenma looked _right now_. Typing it out in words could only do so much, he wanted to capture this moment. 12 years later, sitting with his old best friend. The same best friend he wanted to confess to when he reached high school. The same best friend who vanished right as _Kuroo_ entered high school.

         “I have to go.” Kuroo jolts to a stop, the words ‘wait please’ on the tip of his tongue. Kenma must have noticed it, since he pauses to stare at Kuroo a moment before shifting his eyes away, “I have work.” Kuroo doesn’t dare ask if he can come watch. It’s too early in their relationship—if there even is one—and he doesn’t want to risk it.

         “Alright,” he says slowly, glancing at the clock to see that is it already six in the evening, “I’ll bring those cards the next time I come around, okay?”

        Kenma looks like he wants to say something, but swallows it down, nodding, “Have a good evening.”

         “You too, Kenma.”

         When the door chimes as Kenma walks out, Kuroo shuts his laptop down and stares at the wall.

         He only realizes it then that Kenma never used his name.


	3. Childhood's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Goodbye, my holy friend_   
>  _Love me, it's a sin_   
>  _Can you see me caving in?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ur comments and kudos make me v happy jfc
> 
> bless all y'all

          They happen upon each other about a week later. Kenma is already there, in the seat next to Kuroo’s, when Kuroo walks in and he has to fight the grin that tries to crawl on his face.

         “Evening,” he nods at Kenma, trying _so hard_ not to smile and hug the boy because Kenma sat there out of his own violation and if that wasn’t progress, Kuroo wasn’t sure what is.

         “Oh, so now I’m not important to you anymore?” The barista chirps up as he makes another customer their drink, “Suddenly the blondie shows up and now I’m chopped liver, I see how it goes.” At Kuroo’s flush, Kageyama laughs, and Kuroo really _really_ wants to reach over and hit the younger boy.

         “Shut up, your just my personal barista, _Kage_ ,” Kuroo sneers as Kageyama glares at him, inwardly grinning because he _knows_ that Kageyama cannot call him horrible names. Not while there are people he needs to attend to, “When you get the chance, my usual.” He waves his hand, and Kageyama huffs at him, turning back to actually doing his job.

         “You…seem close.” He isn’t sure if he is ever going to get used to the way Kenma speaks; soft and airy, and if one wasn’t paying enough attention, they could miss half of his sentence and never know it.

         “Hm?” Kuroo takes out his laptop and boots it up, petting the chrome finish with a loving pat, “yeah, I’ve been going here forever now….it has to be about eight years now. Definitely since college.”

          The words seem to perk at Kenma’s ears, “College?” he prompts lightly, before a touch of color tints his cheeks. He hides it by taking a long sip of his pumpkin latte—Kuroo was glad he got it for the boy on a whim, “You went…to college here?”

         Kuroo nods, turning his head to mumble a thanks to Kageyama as the boy hurriedly sets his chai tea on the counter, “Yeah, I’ve been here for almost a decade.”

         Kenma seems to be on a roll with questions today. It must have been a good night last night or something, “…never thought to leave? People do. Know where you live. You’re a writer? Famous, I think. Aone…he seems to like your work.”

         Kuroo laughs at that, “Did he show off my autograph or something?” at Kenma’s delayed shrug, Kuroo figures he was right on target, “No, I haven’t thought of leaving. I would be leaving my friends, and my house, and I really don’t feel like doing that.”

         He looks as if he is about to ask another question, but Kenma busies himself with another sip of his coffee, eyes closing in bliss. Kuroo watches him, distractedly opening up his word document and pulling up the most recent work, “Would you like me to talk about it?”

         Kenma opens his eyes, gold piercing straight to him, “About?” his head tilts just a little before his eyes slide down to rest at the rim of his mug, “Writing?”

         “Nah, college. Only if you want to though.” Kenma shrugs, eyeing his drink with interest. Kuroo waits a few beats and those eyes are on him again, cool and uninterested, but still _curious_ (and how the fuck does he do that?). “What do you want to know?” he asks because he really can talk about his college life forever. From the day he met Bokuto to the day he met Akaashi. The day the two got together, and the day they all graduated. And _everything_ dumb and stupid in between.

         “…he said college…was fun. I want to know. What fun things happen at college?” Kuroo is almost prompted to ask who this ‘he’ is, but he figures it is just one of the other strippers and pushes past his curiosity.

         “Um, well okay,” Kuroo turns to sip at his chai before it gets cold—that happened once and he bitched and Kageyama got so annoyed—before clearing his throat. _God_ this was awkward. Those eyes were watching him, knowing full well that Kuroo wasn’t going to meet them, so having no issues staring holes into the side of his head. Dammit Kenma.

         “Alright, so uh. There was this one time during my junior year. Oh,” Kuroo pauses and frowns, “Okay first thing you have to know are my two friends; Bokuto and Akaashi. I met them in my general classes freshman year and we have been friends ever since.

         “That long?” Kenma seems to be in awe about the whole thing, and Kuroo wants to bite back _yeah like what we could have been_ but he doesn’t.

         “Yeah, we work together. At my part-time job. I’m an editor. Anyways. During our junior year—right before midterms actually—we were sick and tired of studying and got really drunk in Bokuto’s dorm. For some reason his roommate wasn’t there so we were like ‘hell yes’ and used his room for drinking.  Anyways, Boku’s dorm was on the highest floor between all three of us; mine was on the 5th, and Akaashi’s was on the 7th but Bokuto’s just had to be on like the 10th floor, it was insane. Well we were drunk—right?—and I get this bright idea that I can _fly_ ,” he doesn’t miss the way Kenma’s eyes widen, in fact it’s almost comical. Kuroo continues on anyway, “So get this, I’m drunk and I think I can fly. So I manage to somehow get on the balcony—where the fuck Bokuto was I have no idea—and I tell Akaashi exactly what I’m going to do because I want him to watch me.”

         “…did you do it? Did you jump?” Kenma is clutching at his mug so tight that his knuckles are turning white, and Kuroo is half tempted to take the poor mug out of the boy’s hands just in case he shatters it.

         “No, I think I would have died. Actually to be honest, as soon as I told Akaashi, he screamed that I was a cat and _he_ was the owl—though honestly it is Bokuto who is owl-looking out of all of us, you have to see pictures sometime. But yeah no he tells me that I’m going to die if I jump out because I’m not a flying creature, and of course since I’m totally a cat I tell him I have nine lives. Cats totally have nine lives.” Kuroo pauses to drink his cooling  tea, “Well see it seemed like a good comeback, but Akaashi is really scary sober _and_ drunk, and literally threatened to kill me himself. I think his exact words were something like ‘if you jump off there you damn cat and you _survive_ I’m going to beat the other eight lives out of you’. So I also managed to somehow get _down_ from the balcony. Honestly I think the miracle in that situation was that I didn’t fall off from stumbling over.”

         “…that is crazy. Why didn’t anyone stop you?” Kenma had put his mug down and edged it to the other side of the counter. Kuroo waited to answer, swallowing his tea with a grimace—so cold—and shoving his mug next to Kenma’s.

         “Because they are also college students and don’t want a mess to deal with?” Kuroo supplied helpfully, “Honestly I’m not sure but I’m not dead, so I could care less.”

         It is only when Kenma leaves for work that Kageyama wanders over to him, “Hey,” he leans up against the counter, eyes staring at Kuroo as Kuroo _really really_ tries to ignore him, “Kuroo.”

         “What?” he narrows his eyes, flicking them to Kageyama to ensure the boy that narrows his eyes, flicking them to Kageyama to ensure the boy that yeah he was paying attention.

         “With all that affection you’re giving Kenma, people are gonna start assuming things,” When Kuroo’s hands pause and his eyes stray up to stare back at Kageyama, the raven continues, “Like, I don’t know, that you’re his sugar daddy.”

         “Okay.” Kuroo rolls his eyes and goes back to typing, “That doesn’t bother me, people will say whatever. I don’t care.”

         “What if they ask about it on national television?” Kageyama takes Kuroo’s cup and washes it out before setting to make his seve o’clock drink—vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso.

         “Then I pull the whole ‘wow that was really fucking personal do you have no shame’ card and reap the benefits.” Kuroo comments offhandedly, a smile tugging at his lips, “I’m sure if people started asking about why I had a stripper on my arm, different questions would be coming up, though.”

         “Whatever.”

* * *

 

         Either Kenma has started going to the café more, or has figured out his pattern of showing up, because at least once a week Kenma is there, waiting at the bar for Kuroo.

         They don’t talk every week, sometimes it’s just a hello. Other times Kuroo runs late and Kenma can barely say hello before he has to go to work. Kuroo wonders if he talks to Kageyama during those days, or if he sits for hours in silence.

         When they do talk, Kuroo talks about his college life, and the dumb things that has happened from college onward. He doesn’t touch high school because high school was back _home_ and he knows there was a reason Kenma _left_ (though he doesn’t know it really). And honestly those three years of high school were spent with Kuroo hating everyone and everything, and praying every night that Kenma was at least safe, and would come back to him someday.

         Looks like those prayers—to whom he doesn’t know—paid off.

         Kuroo talks when his first book got popular and how terrifying it was. The first Kuroo Testurou stalkers were scary in their own right. And because Kuroo really wasn’t planning on making it big so _soon_ in his life—he was barely out of college for Christ’s sake—his address was on the internet. Luckily he took it down in time, and no one knew his address. Unfortunately for him, his dumbass work friend Lev knew how to get into his house—be it Bokuto’s key or Kuroo’s bad habit of leaving the backdoor unlocked—and would take various pictures—always bad and grainy—of the house. Sometimes Kuroo would star in them, asleep and unaware. When the photos surfaced on the internet, it was Yaku who brought it to his attention, informing Kuroo of what his coworker had done. Kuroo had laughed until he was sure he was going to pass out, before sliding out of his seat and slinging an arm around Lev’s shoulders, congratulating him on being sneaky enough to pull a stunt like that. In the same breath Kuroo remembers threatening to cut off his dick (Kenma had huffed into his latte at that) so that his boyfriend would have nothing to suck. It was safe to say that Lev never did that again.

* * *

 

         “You are going to go broke from all these drinks you keep buying.” Kageyama states one day, and Kuroo laughs as he finishes out two bills to pay the tab he had been avoiding for months, “I’m serious, I think you are this café’s most valuable customer.”

         “Of course I am. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that I was _kind of famous_ I would ask that my image be put on the wall each month as a ‘best customer ever’ award.”

         Kenma wasn’t here today, and Kuroo hadn’t planned to stay long. It was Thanksgiving—the pumpkin smell being replaced with a heavier eggnog scent—and Kuroo just wanted an eggnog latte to take to Bokuto’s house.

         “Sure, more like ‘most annoying customer’.” Kageyama shakes his head as he hands Kuroo his change.

         “They are one and the same, Kageyams. You _know_ this.”

         “Get out of my café,” is all Kageyama says before he thrusts Kuroo’s drink at him. Kuroo just laughs his entire way out, wishing the raven a happy Thanksgiving.

* * *

 

         Thanksgiving had been a family affair up until he left for college. Kuroo hadn’t looked back since. If anyone ever asked him, his family didn’t exist after high school. He didn’t call them, or send them messages. They didn’t contact him in return. There were reasons, but Kuroo didn’t like thinking about them—they just made him angry.

         Bokuto and Akaashi had heard his story, the many versions he tells them—each time earning more and more details—and had declared that he would always spend Thanksgiving with them. Their first time had the turkey way too overcooked and they ended up eating mashed potatoes that Akaashi had successfully made, and canned cranberry jelly. It had gotten better as the years passed.

         Kuroo was in charge of the sweet potatoes. He loved them, and Akaashi loved them. Bokuto hated them to death—calling them the devil’s version of regular potatoes—but allowed them to be made in his apartment. Mainly because Akaashi _lived_ with him and there was no way that Thanksgiving was going to happen without Kuroo making his sweet potato casserole.

         “Did you get the latte?” Bokuto calls from the kitchen, his voice booming in the apartment, “Akaashi looks like he is about to pass out and I’m seriously getting worried.”

         Kuroo pads in with a smile, toeing his shoes off at the entry to the kitchen, kicking them to the side, “Yeah I got the latte, I’m not a horrible friend.” He leans forward and allows Bokuto to hug him hello, chuckling at the pleased sigh that Akaashi releases.

         “This barista is a god,” he mutters as he sips at his drink again, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

         “Right, I know. I really would pay him to be my personal barista.” Kuroo looks around the kitchen, spying Bokuto’s turkey being marinated and Akaashi’s potatoes boiling on the stove. Grabbing one of the aprons, Kuroo washes his sweet potatoes, finishing just as the beeper for the oven goes on.

         As he puts the potatoes on a metal sheet for easier carrying, he swoops over and kisses Akaashi’s cheek, in total thanks for setting the oven for him, “Lifesaver,” he sings as he places the sweet delicious yams in the oven.

         “Gross,” Bokuto says more for _saying_ it rather than meaning it, “You are both super gross.”

         “If you think it’s gross, you don’t have to date me anymore, Bokuto.” Akaashi deadpans, taking a casual sip from his coffee as Bokuto splutters, “I’m sure me and Kuroo can live in a wonderful sweet potato filled world without you, right?” dark brown eyes settle on his, and Kuroo smirks, sliding up to Akaashi and stealing a kiss.

         “Oh you _bet_ , babe. Sweet potatoes every single day. Sweet potato themed _sex_ —how do you feel about one of _those_ bad boys shoved up your—” Kuroo’s horrible food themed sex segment is cut short when Akaashi shoved his drink into Kuroo’s face.

         “Please stop talking. You are just as bad as him.” Kuroo just laughs and steals a sip against the brunets will, smiling pleasantly the whole time.

         “Just be glad that Kuroo’s too whipped to his childhood friend, otherwise this totally would have been some sort of threesome.”

         Kuroo doesn’t say anything because _yeah_ it would have been. They got the experience (ah, the joys of being drunk and touchy and with your best friends) and the chemistry. Kuroo’s heart just belonged to a certain blond boy. So sad.

         The actual dinner consists of sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green beans with garlic and bacon—Bokuto’s all time favorite—turkey, cranberries, and wine. Other things came and went, but those were the staple food of their Thanksgiving holiday.

         “We should say what we are thankful for,” Akaashi comments about halfway into dinner.

         “For tapping that sweet ass,” It’s so quick, without any hesitation at _all_ that Kuroo chokes on his bite of turkey, coughing for a moment before swallowing it down with wine.

         “For this beautiful wine that will get me drunk.” Kuroo says in response to that, smiling as Akaashi just frowns loudly (oh the boy can frown loudly in the loudest of rooms, both Kuroo and Bokuto _know_ this) at the two of them.

         “Eggnog lattes,” he says finally, and Kuroo laughs, chortles really.

         “You are no better than us, Akaashi.”

         “Shut up and eat, you two are worse pigs that I will ever be.” There is a haughty  sniff.

         “Keep thinking that sweetheart, you can be just as dirty as the rest of us.”

* * *

 

         “Ah…um…” Kuroo pauses his writing, eyes shifting over to the pale blond next to him, “…what did you major in? In college,”

         “I double majored,” Golden eyes lock with his, and Kuroo smiles just a bit, “Yeah, English and Business Management. Why?” There is only a shrug to his question, so Kuroo figures that Kenma is don’t talking, turning back and returning to his writing.

         They had gotten a little closer over the month they had ‘accidently’ ran into each other at the café. Still, Kuroo did most of the talking, and often times Kenma still had to leave at six for work. Sometimes—rarely—Kenma would respond to Kuroo’s questions about how he had been in the most recent years. Kuroo tried his hardest not to push too much into the past—he still didn’t know the reasons Kenma left—but it was hard. So damn difficult.

         “How’d you get into the strip club?” Kenma looked up from staring at his drink, sadly it wasn’t a pumpkin latte (Kageyama had run out just after Thanksgiving) so he was a little depressed.

         “Um…a friend helped me. Lie…about my age,” he mumbled out, gripping the mug tighter with every word. Kuroo nodded in understanding, thinking how Kenma was only 14 years old when he ran away, and the legal age in _most_ places was 18.

         They fell silent for a little bit, save for Kenma stuttering out a small thanks when Kageyama took his mug to refill it, “What else do you do in your spare time?” Kuroo didn’t stop typing, but he noticed Kenma’s eyes slide to glance at him, “Do you still play video games?”

         If a pin dropped around them, Kuroo was sure he would have heard it. Kenma was always a silent sort of person, but the silence that surrounded him now had less to do with calm and quiet and a lot more to do with _extremely uncomfortable_. Was there a line he crossed? Apparently so, but he doesn’t know what it is. Video games? Something so simple, something Kuroo used to spend his allowance on—pooling it with Kenma’s of course—so he could buy his best friend a game. Exactly what line did he cross.

         “No…” the answer came slowly, fingers crawling forward to snag the mug Kageyama put in front of him during their silence, “I don’t….not anymore. Not for…not since…”

         Kuroo’s fingers froze on the keyboard, “Don’t,” was all he said, and the boy next to him froze, those fingers gripping the mug too tightly, “I’m sorry, I think I crossed a line,” Turning, he gave a lopsided grin at the frazzled boy, “You don’t…owe me anything.”

         Kenma looked pained—and how Kuroo _wished_ he could say that yeah, Kenma owed him some fucking answers. But now was not the time to talk about them, not this soon. “It’s almost six…”

         “Have fun at work,” Kuroo’s gaze sweeps over the boy before he nods and goes back to writing. He is well aware of the stare boring into the side of his head before the blond slips off the stool and slinks away.

         “Hey, Kuroo what the ever loving _fuck_ —”

         “Shut up, Kageyama.”

* * *

 

         Kuroo vows to himself that over the rest of the holidays he wasn’t going to go to the café. It was a painful vow he made—a vow he broke a few times because god dammit he needed his peppermint latte—but he stuck through it. Kenma needed time to relax. Kuroo didn’t want to drag up old memories, but he knew it was inevitable to do so.

         Christmas is a wonderful affair, as it always is. While everyone in his group of friends agree that Christmas should be at Kuroo’s house, Kuroo lacks the furniture to hold them, and Yaku bought a nice _real_ wood table a few years back. So Christmas is held at his house.

         Much like Thanksgiving, Christmas is spent with his friends. Instead of turkey they usually have a nice roast or honeyed ham. Green beans and mashed potatoes are a staple as always, but Yaku’s mac and cheese is to _die_ for, so they rarely have a Christmas without it. Kuroo usually doesn’t serve his sweet potatoes, opting for making whatever Yaku or Akaashi tells him to. This year happened to be ‘buy eggnog and peach pie’ which he can totally do.

         Presents are a rare thing, only happening if someone sees something that would _totally_ work with one of them. This year Kuroo gets a few cheesy laptop decals from Bokuto and a few ink pens from Lev—a very thoughtful present coming from the brash idiot.

         New Year’s comes and goes, a party at Kuroo’s house, a total potluck of whatever they want to bring. Chips, salsa, eggnog (Akaashi can only have it once a year and he indulges enough in it), cake, meat, and of course alcohol. New Year’s used to be about getting drunk and having fun, but as Kuroo had met Yaku and Lev, it became about getting drunk and playing _board games_ (which in their own right was hilariously fun). Now it was less of the drunk and more multiplayer video games and classic movies.

         Of course they watched the one minute countdown, and no matter where Kuroo and Bokuto were when it happened, they always managed to get near each other before the clock hit zero. Since meeting the dumb owl in his freshman year of college—just over a decade ago—they had been each other’s New Year’s kiss. Akaashi found it amusing, and accepted the smooch his boyfriend always gave him after, a smile on his lips.

* * *

 

         “Happy New Year,” it’s the first thing Kenma says to him after a least of month of not seeing the blond. Kuroo returns the sentiment and unpacks his laptop, “How…were your holidays?”

         “I spent it with my colleagues. This was the tenth year I have been with Bokuto and Akaashi, so it was nice.”

         “Are you…with them?” Kuroo pauses for a moment before laughing, forgetting how easily scared Kenma is and scaring him.

         “No, sorry, but no, college friends, remember?” Kenma nods a few times, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. Looking around, Kuroo doesn’t see a wandering Kageyama bustling around and frowns, “Where’s Kageyams.”

         “He’s on a date today. Or his ‘non-date’ but I know exactly what it is, he can’t lie to me!” It takes all of Kuroo’s self control not to jump out of his seat and rush behind the counter at the sweet voice that speaks, “How are you, Kuroo? Long time no see!”

         “Pff, well yeah, do you even work here anymore, god. It’s been _ages_ ,” He leans forward and smiles at the blond girl in front of him, “How have you been Yachi. Get into some drug cartels or something?”

         The light laughter that fills the café fits in so perfectly that Kuroo wonders why Kageyama gets more shifts than this _perfect angel_ does, “No you wish, but no way. I got a new job, so I was learning the ropes.”

         “New job? I’ll totally visit you, bug you all day and night until you kick me out.” Kenma shifts next to him, but Kuroo doesn’t pay it any mind. Really, the boy might have been missing for 12 years, but Kuroo _had_ moved on pretty well and made friendships that trumped the one he had with Kenma back in the day. Over 12 years ago.

         “Ahh, well unless you want our bodyguard to kick you out for trespassing, I doubt I’ll see much of you,” Kuroo opened his mouth to speak but Yachi beat him to it, “I work with Kiyoko now, she needed the extra hands to help manage Foothills, so. I went to help .”

         Kuroo glanced at Kenma and saw him avoiding all eye contact with Yachi. He frowned at the discovery, but otherwise said nothing, “That’s good, that’s good. Are you working here mornings now, and there in the evening?”

         That day passed with Kenma uncomfortably sitting next to him and Kuroo attempting to ignore the little fidgeter. As six rolled around, he tore out a piece of paper and scrawled a few numbers on it.

         “Sorry we didn’t talk much, she’s been absent for quite some time. But here, in case you need something.” He pushed the paper into Kenma’s hands.

         “I don’t really…”

         “It’s okay. If you never text, I won’t mind. It’s just if you ever _want_ to talk or something.”

         “…okay,” Kenma curls his hand around the paper, loose enough that he doesn’t crumple it to death, but tight enough that Kuroo gets an inkling that his number means a whole lot more to the boy than he is letting on.

         “Have a good night, Kenma,” Kuroo calls out as the boy leave, barely hearing the ‘you too’ in return.

         God dammit he _still_ hasn’t said Kuroo’s name.

* * *

 

                  _From: Unknown_

_Can’t go to café today._

         It had been almost a month since he pushed his number into Kenma’s hand, and after the first week, he had assumed the boy lost it. He of course never commented on it, he did say the boy didn’t _have_ to text him. So really. It wasn’t a big deal. Putting down his pen—one of the amazing ink pens Lev got him for Christmas—Kuroo added the contact, a small smile on his lips.

                 _To: Kenma_

_Sokay, I got called into work. not out til late_

         “Texting your crush?” Kuroo locked his phone quickly, putting it on the table with a dull thud, “Oh _shit_ you totally are. Oh my god, Kuroo got them digits!”

         “Lev, please stop talking,” Really the boy could be the cutest thing sometimes and then he did this thing called _talking_ and ruined it all, “He is a friend, not some crush.” He noticed the gray haired menace’s grin and sighed, “That time came and went, Lev. Just an old friend.”

         “Old _flame_. Fan ‘em, Kuroo. Fan those flames until they are a raging inferno and—”

         “Lev! Are you finished filing those papers?” Kuroo held back a snort as he watched the overly tall child sag down, giving Kuroo a pleading stare before he turned and sulked back to Akaashi’s desk, “That’s what I thought.”

         His phone lit up the moment he picked up his pen, and with a smile—because really he couldn’t be mad at Kenma for texting him at work—Kuroo picked it up to respond

                 _From: Kenma_

_U could stop wasting your money tmw_

         He couldn’t fight the large smile that ate at his face, quickly texting back before deciding that he did _not_ want to be Akaashi’s target for abuse.

                 _To: Kenma_

_c u @ 3 then_

* * *

 

         “Kuroo I _know_ you know how to cook,” Once again Bokuto tries to stand on the cart, cursing when it tilted upwards.

         “Cooking and baking are two completely different things,” it was tempting to add in that Bokuto didn’t know how to do either of them, but the man was learning and _could_ cook meat pretty damn well, so Kuroo didn’t comment on it. He did however stare at his friend—a grown man of over six fee—try to stand on the cart, “You do realize you are way too heavy, right?”

         “You left me with cart pushing so shut the hell up and look and what you need to get,” Bokuto grumbled because apparently _no_ he did not know that he was too heavy. Six foot child.

         “Alright, so we are going to need...four Courtland apples and…two Granny Smith—I’m not buying that.” Kuroo glared at the sad excuse of a person he calls a friend, who had picked up a large package of chocolate.

         “Too late,” with quick movements that Kuroo couldn’t have stopped if he tried, the package was opened, the damn owl happily munching on stolen goods, “now what were you saying?”

* * *

 

         “…and then I do this?” Kuroo folded the sliced apples into the sugar mixture, a concentrated look on his face.

         Akaashi hummed, sitting on one of the unused counters, munching on rejected apples, “Yeah you’re doing fine. Why am I here again?”

         Kuroo paused and cursed as a single coated apple fell out of the pan. Biting his lip he grabbed it and tossed it into his mouth, “Uh, to make sure I don’t fuck this up? I thought that was obvious. I can’t bake very well, but you can do _everything_.”

         “Complients to my kitchen skills aside,” the dark haired boy slipped off the counter to assist Kuroo in covering the apple pie with foil, “You are just as capable in the kitchen. All you do is follow instructions, you know how to do that,” There was silence for a moment as Kuroo put the pie in the oven, a self-satisfied look on his face, “Also thanks for bringing my boyfriend home all dosed up on sugar.”

         Kuroo put up his hands in surrender, “Woah, he stole those chocolates and then made me buy them, I didn’t do anything.”

         “But you didn’t stop him, or take the chocolates from him.” Akaashi crossed his arms over his chest, a move Kuroo used to be able to withstand but since meeting Yaku, Akaashi had gotten the ‘arms crossed and disapproving mother’ look down to pat, which was terrifying in its own right, “Do you know how long it took to calm him down?”

         “Several rounds of sex?” Kuroo snorted but balked at the murderous stare, “Right, I’m sorry, god. You’re a force to be reckoned with, Akaashi.”

         He just got the smallest of smirks in response before shooing Kuroo out of the kitchen to shower while he cleaned up.

* * *

 

         At 3:10 the doorbell to his house rang, and all Kuroo wanted to do was bound to the door and throw it open. Instead he padded _calmly_ to his door, greeting Kenma with a nod of his head, “Afternoon,”

         “Hi…sorry, I got a little lost…” Kenma took a hesitant step in, and Kuroo waited patiently for the boy to fully stand in his foyer before he closed the door, “It smells good.”

         “I…ah…I made apple pie.” He regards Kenma with a tentative look, his lips almost pulling into a smile as the blond’s eyes widen (just a fraction but a large enough fraction that Kuroo _notices_ ).

         The ‘thanks’ that leaves Kenma’s lips sounds more like ‘I didn’t know you could cook’ and Kuroo just beams, because fuck _yeah_ he can cook. He didn’t go to college and die. He had to survive somehow. And Ramen and fast food was totally not going to cut it.

         Between the two of them, they pack away three nicely sized portions of pie—two for Kenma and one for Kuroo—as they chat. Kuroo still hasn’t run out of things to tell the boy about his college days, and Kenma has yet to get tired of them. Hell, he had even cracked a _smile_ during the time Kuroo recalled dressing up for Halloween as a sexy maid and going to all of his classes.

         “It’s 5:30,” Kenma says in the middle of Kuroo’s latest memory—the time when he spilled chemicals all over his arm in an act of _niceness_ , “…I should go. You aren’t as close to the club as the café is.” Kuroo just nods and smiles, though he wishes Kenma could stay longer, and sees him to the door.

         Today was a good day.


	4. Misguided Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'm going away for a while_   
>  _But I'll be back_   
>  _Don't try to follow me_

          Before Kuroo knew it, a year had passed.

          A year since he had stumbled upon Kenma in that strip club—a place he had been going for _years_ (though he never really looked at the stage before or was too drunk to care so he could have noticed Kenma long before and forgotten). A year ago he had been standing at the backdoor of the club, begging Aone to let him in or let Kenma _out_. Six months since Kenma had first come over and eaten that apple pie. And now he was here. Kenma at his dining table, munching slowly on some chips and salsa Kuroo had lying about.

         “It’s been a year,” he comments as he takes a long sip from his coffee—not as good at the café, but a hell of a lot cheaper. And it was like June, it was hot and muggy outside. No way was he walking.

         Kenma just hums as he lays his head down on the table, one hand reaching for chips while the other cushioned his head.

         Shaking his head with a snort, Kuroo goes back to writing, the pattern of his fingers flying over the keyboard only broken by the dull thud of the backspace, “You can go nap on the couch if you need,”

         “’M fine…” is the drowsy reply from the blond boy, muffled round a mouthful of chips. Kuroo just shrugs and continues on writing for a while, aware of the fact that the crunch of the chips slows down until the chips hadn’t been touched in over ten minutes.

         Looking down, he finds the blond asleep, the wrinkle usually between his brows smoothed out and lips parted slightly as they inhale and exhale. Kuroo recalls that Kenma snores—more like a heavy breathing but still—and smiles to himself.

         They stay like that until it is time for Kenma to leave, in which Kuroo slowly rouses the boy, “Do you work tonight?” he asks lowly, keeping his hand gently on Kenma’s shoulder and _not_ running though those golden locks. When he gets a sleepy grunt in response, Kuroo fights a smile and shakes him again, “Kenma, you have to get up and go to work. You make, money at work.” he doesn’t add on that Kenma most likely _needs_ that money, but he stops himself because one that would be rude and two, Kenma likely didn’t spend too much now that Kuroo made him food on an almost daily basis, he got free drinks at the café, and Kuroo still handed him cards for groceries when it was needed.

         Really he was like the boys Sugar Daddy. Kageyama was _right_.

         Damn him.

* * *

 

         “And so then like, I had to almost kick him out it was hilarious. I hope he got the work okay,” Kuroo leaned back in the barstool, his legs locked around the metal bars so that he didn’t fall off, “did he come in here after he left?”

         Kageyama paused and looked over at Kuroo, who for once didn’t have his laptop on him and was actually dressed in something other than a faded t-shirt and jeans, “I wouldn’t know I wasn’t working that day. Yachi was.”

         Kuroo clicked his tongue and grinned, “Went on another date with your _boyfriend_?” he teased, laughing when Kageyama totally blushed.

         “No!” he frowned and shook his head, “No, we aren’t…we aren’t an official thing. Actually we just went to get ice cream, it was nice.” Kuroo noticed the smile on the younger boy’s face and offered a smile of his own.

         “That’s great Kageyams, I’m happy for you,” swinging his legs, Kuroo heard the scoff from the other side of the counter, “no seriously, I’ve been coming here for _years_ and you never smiled at me like that when you talk to me. Or anyone for that matter. Glad you found someone who makes you happy.” Those navy eyes turned to him and Kuroo grinned, proud that it had come on in a totally non-assholeish way.

         “…Thanks,” was all Kageyama said back to him, but his cheeks were a little rosy and that was all that mattered to Kuroo.  _Score._

         “Hey I gotta jet to work in like 30, can I have a chai to go?”

         “Sure.”

* * *

 

         It was odd, seeing Kenma freeze up. Not odd in the sense of Kuroo wasn’t used to it. But odd in the sense that he hadn’t done it for months around him. Granted he rarely looked him in the eye and not _once_ had he called Kuroo by his name—what was up with that by the way?—but still. Kenma seemed fairly comfortable around him.

        “Hey?” Kuroo nudged the boy’s raspberry lemonade with his elbow, jolting him from his thoughts, “What’s wrong?”

         Kenma opened his mouth to answer, but flinched when an arm landed across his shoulders, “Long time no see, Kenma.” The voice was deep and raspy but not deep enough to offset his kind smile, “How’ve ya been?”

         Kenma looked vaguely uncomfortable but sighed and turned to face the stranger, a small frown on his face, “Bobata,” he nodded, “…I’ve been fine. What about you? I haven’t seen you for a few months…you stopped coming with Teru…”

         The laugh that exploded reminded Kuroo of Bokuto, but there was something _off_ about it that made his skin itch. “Has he been handsy lately?” Kenma paused, and if Kuroo hadn’t been paying attention to them, he would have missed those gold eyes sliding to glance at him before nodding again, “I’ll tell em to tone it down. Wouldn’t want our _favorite_ boy to be hurt now would we.”

         “…No. we wouldn’t want that.” Kuroo really _really_ was confused, but before he could open his mouth and say anything this Bobata person took his hand off Kenma’s shoulders and stretched.

         “Well actually I just stopped in for a nice iced latte before I met up with some friends, so I can’t chat anymore, Kenma. It was nice seeing you though; I’ll pass on your message to Teru when I see him tonight.”

         “Yeah.” Kenma would have seemed at ease if not for the tight grip he had on his cup again.

         Kuroo just turned his head back to his laptop, typing away in hopes of forgetting what that was all about.

         He doubted it though. It was just another question to add to the list of endless questions he had for his old friend.

* * *

_From: Kenma_

_leaving for work. safe_

_see u soon_

         Holding his phone in his hands, Kuroo sighs for the umpteenth time rereading the text over and over again.

         “Dude, you are going to get gray hairs from all that sighing,” Bokuto calls from across the office floor. When Kuroo turns and attempts to give a glare, his best friend heaves himself out of his chair and walks the short distance to Kuroo’s desk, “Hey.” His voice is a hell of a lot quieter than it was across the room, and the comforting shoulder that is put on his hand feels like a mother’s touch.

         There are times Kuroo remembers why he puts up with Bokuto’s overly loud personality. Beside the fact that he was the same way and they always had a good time. Mostly because Bokuto could read people. He knew what people were like even after a first meeting or a simple phone call. Bokuto knew Kuroo like the back of his head, could read every single emotion that flitted across his face—even the ones Kuroo tried so hard to hide. There was a sense of relief in knowing Bokuto could do that to him, read him like an open book when Kuroo was anything but. He could always go to him, rain or shine, no matter what was going on in their lives, and sit there in silence. And Bokuto would understand. Would pat him on the shoulder and tell him sorry and offer words of comfort, and then try his very best to get Kuroo a little happier again.

         “It’s like a repeat of 13 years ago,” Kuroo mumbled, dropping his phone on his desk and turning to stare at his best friend, a pinched expression on his face, “I mean at least he left a _note_ but,”

         The hand on his shoulder tightened as Bokuto narrowed his eyes, “He said see you soon, man. Calm down. You know he works at a strip club. Most of the boys there also do shit on the side, so who knows what he is up to. But he trusts whoever he is with,” Kuroo slid his eyes to the side before grumbling, “What, I couldn’t hear you? Did you say I was correct that that I’m the best person in the whole world?”

         Kuroo snorted at that and pushed his friend’s hand off his shoulder, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, idiot owl,” he grinned and Bokuto smiled back. With a pang, Kuroo realized that Bokuto had not only calmed his nerves, but had reassured him and made him laugh in just a few sentences.

         “Cool man, don’t stress about it anymore. If you want I think Akaashi is making pasta, come over and hang.”  

* * *

 

         “I can’t do this,” Akaashi grumbles at the table, and Kuroo laughs at the words, covering his mouth at the last minute. Bokuto and he had been locked in a battle of who could shove the most pasta into their mouths without spitting it out. Bokuto had lost spectacularly when Kuroo made him laugh and noodles shot out of his _nose_. The offended look on Akaashi’s face made the two of them only laugh harder, “You are both disgusting,” the small lift of his lips was the only emotion that showed that he wasn’t _too_ upset with their dumb shenanigans

         “Sorry, sorry, we’ll stop.” Kuroo swallowed with a wince, taking a couple sips of water to sooth his aching throat, “Thank you for cooking, it was delicious,” Kuroo finally takes a normal sized bite, watching Akaashi give a little grin at Kuroo’s praise. They settle into a comfortable silence, the three of them finishing off what was left on their plates, “I’ll clean,” Kuroo volunteers, standing up and collecting their dishes before either one can object.

         Bokuto frowns at his friend, but Kuroo only plasters on a grin and waltzes out of the room, the gentle clang of dishes being put in the sink sounding moments later. As Kuroo cleans he can hear Bokuto talking to Akaashi, a low mutter before a loud smooch and a squawk from the calm brunet follow.

         “Hey,” Kuroo pauses in cleaning, turning his head to stare at Bokuto leaning against the counter, “you need to stop.” Kuroo’s hands just clench the plate in his hands before he turns back and runs it under the hot water.

         “He’ll come back.” Bokuto sounds closer and Kuroo grunts, his insecurities running wild in his mind. As Kuroo puts the now clean plate on the drying rack, Bokut takes his hands and slides the washing gloves onto them, grumbling under his breath about how Kuroo was the dumb friend.

        “What if he’s lying somewhere dead, or hurt…or he ran away again. I had _accepted_ him being gone, I accepted it a long time ago and now he’s back and if he doesn’t—”

         Bokuto just stares at him, those steel gray eyes serious and unchanging for once, watching Kuroo halt himself mid-sentence. When it doesn’t look like Kuroo is going to continue talking, Bokuto smiles moves forward to pull his friend into a hug.

         “You’re hopeless,” he mutters, causing Kuroo to laugh as he wraps his arms back around Bokuto, “You worry too much.”

         “But I missed him. I _really_ missed him,” Kuroo sounds broken to his own ears, and if he was a weaker man he would have been crying over it all. But he had cried over Kenma 13 years ago and he wasn’t going to do it again, “What if he doesn’t come back, Koutaro?”

         Bokuto tightens his grip on the back of Kuroo’s shirt, pressing him against his chest. “Well you have me and Akaashi this time around. We’ll piece you back together.” Kuroo nods against his shoulder, faintly wondering what Akaashi would think if he were to walk in right now. Before he could voice how very homosexual this all was, Bokuto pulled back and kissed Kuroo’s forehead.

         “You shouldn’t go home tonight,” Akaashi’s voice startles them both in the kitchen, and Kuroo stares at him wide-eyed. As much as he loved Bokuto, he wasn’t in a _relationship_ with him and always treaded lightly in how expressive he was with his affection, “You’re just going to worry yourself sick and look like a mess in the morning.”

         His best friend stepped back and nodded in agreement, “Yeah Kuroo. Let us distract you with video games and scary movies and stuff. It will be like old times, okay?”

         Kuroo smiled widely, hiding it behind his hand as he snorted, “Yeah, just like old times.”

         These were definitely the times he loved his friends.

* * *

 

         Spinning in his chair, Kuroo groaned. It was loud enough to warrant Bokuto telling him to keep his masturbation sounds down, which in turn had Lev cackling and Akaashi snapping at them to shut the fuck up. Kuroo laughed at the noise in their office space, shaking his head and catching Yaku’s frown with a grin of his own.

         “We should go out tonight! Since Kuroo seems to be in such a great mood!” Lev called out to the lot of them. Kuroo voiced his agreement, and despite it being a Thursday, Akaashi was alright with them going out for a drink. As long as they didn’t get too drunk. Everyone ignored him on that—except maybe Yaku—and their level-headed boss only sighed when they just talked over him.

         “Apparently Foothills has some new competition, wanna check it out?”

         “No because that would mean we _support_ the competition. Damn, Lev do you use your brain like ever?”

         “More than you do, Bokuto. Akaashi yells at you more than he has ever yelled at me. Calls you dumb and stuff, so _obviously_ I use my brain more.”

         “Low blow man. Just like what you have to do to Yaku when—”

         Kuroo’s head snapped up to glance at Yaku’s beet red face, “Please stop talking, Bokuto. You know nothing of Lev and my sexual activities.”

         Biting back laughter, Kuroo glanced over at Akaashi, waving at the man before getting back to work. With Yaku on edge from Bokuto’s comment, Kuroo really didn’t want to fuel the fire on either side, content to hear them bicker until Akaashi snapped again and forced them into a silent workspace.

* * *

 

         Of course they ended up at Foothills, there really was no other place to go due to the fact that they had been going for _years_ and didn’t want to change their bar. It was a stable thing in their lives. Besides, Saeko was there and she was entertainment enough.

         “Hey, Saeko,” Kuroo called out, leaning against the bar where she was working with a hunk of a man. Kuroo knew he was anything but that, so he smiled at him before narrowing his eyes, “Saeko!” Finally the older woman looked at him a smile on her face the moment she recognized him.

         “Kuroo!” she gave a short wave back as she finished up the drinks for the other waiting customers, coming over once she was done, “What’cha need? Refills?”

         With a nod, he watched as she called out to her fellow bartender that she was helping a customer and he was on his own for a bit. Kuroo felt slightly bad when the much bigger man balked and froze for a bit before nodding back.

         “Asahi hasn’t gotten over his confidence issues yet?”

         “You would _think_ , now that he’s dating Noya, but nope. Still a giant with a glass heart.” Kuroo snorted at Saeko’s choice of words before he paused.

         “Noya? The little firecracker that sits up here sometimes?”

         One glass was placed in front of him before Saeko disappeared for a moment, “Huh? Yeah, that kid. Hasn’t been over as much to soothe Asahi’s nerves. Working his magic on stage now that pretty blondie is out for a while.”

         Kuroo bit his lip, almost positive that the blond Saeko was talking about was Kenma. He said nothing about it, since he wasn’t entirely sure if relationships were forbidden for the strippers or if Saeko had taken the boy under her wing. Kenma had never really specified who helped him get into the club at such a young age and he didn’t want to ruin any relationships with the people here because he happened to be connected to Kenma’s hometown roots.

         They talked about meaningless things, jobs and writing and club gossip among the top topics as Saeko continued to work her magic. If Kageyama was the coffee god, than Saeko was totally the alcohol goddess, her mixing abilities making her a top notch bartender.

         “That took _forever_ ,” Lev whined, snatching his scotch from Kuroo’s hands.

         “Be grateful he offered to go get our drinks,” Yaku chided, smiling sweetly as Kuroo handed him his gin and tonic.

         “Thank you Yaku, shut up Lev.” He steps over Bokuto and attempts to do the same for Akaashi, but he is pulled down—unsteadily and it’s a miracle that the table didn’t crash down when he collapsed—between the two of them.

         “How you holding up, Kuroo?” it’s so slurred. So very _very_ slurred, but the worried tone is still evident in Bokuto’s voice. Even if he is sloppily kissed on the cheek.

         With the back of his hand, Kuroo wipes the saliva off his face, frowning a bit, “’M not your boyfriend,” he grumbles softly, but leans into Bokuto’s embrace anyways, internally happy that his friend was still worried about him. Because even though they had been _best friends_ for just over 9 years, Kuroo still is always amazed when Bokuto expresses concern for him. Most times Akaashi dealt with this stuff.

* * *

 

         It is unsurprising that Kuroo wakes up with a pounding headache and wearing only boxers. Also not in his bed. It was a little cheaper, but still nice and plush but _not_ his bed. Sighing softly, Kuroo blinks his eyes open, expecting a bright room, but seeing only darkness. He knows who’s room it is though and his eyes slide to the window, smiling a bit when he sees the blackout curtains drawn over the blinds.

         Bokuto rests next to him, his limbs spread wide and his mouth hanging open and overall he was in a very unattractive pose. Kuroo is used to that as well, only shaking his head as he slides off the bed and pads to where his clothes _likely_ are. When he sees his boxers laying atop his pants, Kuroo frowns and looks down, seeing that these are not even his own boxers. Vaguely he wonders if these ones are even _clean_. He hopes they are. He slips out of the borrowed boxers and into his own, donning his pants as well before he slips out of the room.

         “Morning,” Akaashi greets, holding up a cup of coffee as a way of informing Kuroo there was coffee. Kuroo just grunts, making his own cup before he joins Akaashi on the couch, sipping happily at the dark sludge in his mug, “You feeling better?”

         While he isn’t sure what really went down last night—he really needs to ask—Kuroo is positive that he feels better. Nothing aches or hurts (so it wasn’t sex?) but mentally he feels refreshed, “Yeah,” he croaks out, wincing at his sleep heavy voice. There are a few moments of silence that pass between them before Kuroo clears his throat and speaks again, “What exactly happened? We didn’t? Me and Bokuto didn’t, please tell me we _didn’t_ —”

         Akaashi has the nerve to smile at him, all calm and poised. It irritates Kuroo at this moment because _dammit_ he might have just broken Akaashi’s heart and what if he _did_ he would be a horrible friend. Absolutely horrible.

         “Calm down, I’m not mad,” he’s still smiling and Kuroo is _this close_ to throttling him until he spills. Instead he just narrows his eyes and sips on his coffee some more, biting back a hum as the warm liquid slides down his throat, “I’m not too sure what happened myself, so unless Bokuto states otherwise, I don’t think you went past kissing.” Kuroo feels relief flood through him, shown through a smile against the rim of his mug, “But you did cry when we got back to the apartment. It took a while to calm you down.” The relief turns to dread and Kuroo ducks his head, mumbling about how he needed more coffee. Akaashi lets him disappear into the kitchen without another word.

         When Kuroo comes back—where else was he really going to _go_?—Akaashi pauses in his internet browsing and glances at him before turning his eyes back to the laptop screen. “It’s okay, you know. It’s not the first time you’ve cried in front of us, and surely it won’t be the last.”

         “Comforting,” Kuroo deadpans, feeling no better than he had before, “Extremely comforting.”

         “Shut up,” There’s a soft snort attached to the statement, “we’ve been friends for _years_ , Kuroo. Stop pretending like you have to hide shit from us. We’re always here to help you, alright?”

         “Yeah…” Kuroo says after a moment, smiling against the rim of his mug again, “Thanks Akaashi,” he finishes, glancing at the wall before Akaashi can see the complete gratitude that has morphed his face into some sort of lovesick look.

         “No problem.”

* * *

 

         Just because Kenma wasn't there, didn't mean Kuroo avoids the café. The café was his before Kenma arrived, and the café will continue to be his. Kenma or no Kenma.

         Sadly for him, there is no Kageyama to torment today. But the lovely Yachi _did_ wave to him as he walked in, so Kuroo could live with that.

         “Afternoon, Kuroo,” she chirps happily, a bright grin on her face. It’s oddly contagious, and Kuroo finds himself smiling back at her, “What can I get for you today?”

         “Iced chai, shot of espresso,” he replies, pulling out his laptop and claiming his usual perch on the barstool, “How’s life been going, Yachi? Pretty good balancing two jobs?”

         There is a loud smack of a mug on the wood counter, and Yachi looks up and stares at him before glancing at the customer line. Kuroo gets the hint. Only when Yachi has dealt with the customers and the café has settled into a low hum of conversation of filling the air. “I _have_ to talk to you about Kageyama.”

         That immediately gets Kuroo’s attention, and he puts  his glass down, frowning at her, “Is he okay? Did he get fired? Is he looking for a job or?”

         Yachi smiles and shakes her head, “No, no! Just…his boyfriend…” she trails off again and glances at the door to make sure no one is coming in. Or a certain _someone_ isn’t coming in, after Kuroo catches her gaze drifting to the seat next to him. Kenma’s seat.

         “He’s been gone for two weeks now, he won’t show up.” Yachi breathes a sigh of relief.

         “I knew that, but I didn’t know if _you_ knew,” she chuckles softly before getting back on topic, “Kageyama is seeing one of the strippers. Which under normal circumstances, would be totally _fine_ , but he doesn’t know and the person he is seeing doesn’t want him to know and it’s just going to be a huge mess I can feel it! Kageyama is going to get sooo angry and then he is going to like go on a killing rampage and trust no one and his first target is _totally_ going to be Hinata and—” Her pretty hazel eyes widen in shock as she realizes her mistake.

         “Kenma’s little friend?” Kuroo pauses, blinking a few times, “That’s cute,” he says before taking a few sips of his tea, “I approve of Kageyama’s dating choices.” Yachi just shakes her head at him, a smile tilting her lips, “but I do see the issue. That’s a big thing the shrimp is keeping from him, I don’t see it ending well if Kageyama finds out in another way beside Hinata _telling_ him.”

         “And to make it _worse_ , I work with both of them so I have to listen to their date stories and it’s really cute but also I just want to shove them in a room so they can fuck and stop dodging around stuff.” Yachi groans and buries her face in her hands. Kuroo only laughs at her misfortune, smiling when she shoots a half-assed glare up at him, “It’s not funny.”

         “Only that it _is_ ,” is his response, draining the rest of his chai tea in one gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //stares at chapter i'm vaguely unhappy with part of this. if u notice which part kudos to u. //laughs oh well. i gave up. 
> 
> oh man no kenma jfc what ever shall happen. also for those of u who dont know, bobata is like my friend's fave person ever, and i have done him a great injustice. sorry ren.
> 
> Edit: Also now i track the tag 'fic: what would you do' since someone created art for me (seen now as a link in ch1 fyi)


	5. Bad Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _now I can show you_   
> _all the inner working things_   
> _the hard driver's_   
> _heart never saved me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wOW I UPDATED SO QUICKLY WHATS THE REASON. no reason. actually, this was unplanned entirely! i got some really nice [art](http://skeletonsatans.tumblr.com/post/99791622114) and that got me thinking that i really wanted (but never planned to) do a kenma pov. so b/c of this art u get a new chapter! wOW. 
> 
> now everything is suPER VAGUE b/c this is supposed to be 'we find out things through Kuroo's POV' so i kept things as vague as possible. And ye. 
> 
> i now track the tag 'fic: what would you do' and i'm still using my halloween url [skeletonkenma](http://skeletonkenma.tumblr.com) so you can contact me there as well!

        It was hard—no, it was extremely _difficult_ to see Kuroo as often as he did. Memories constantly bubbled up, memories he spent over 12 _years_ dancing away. All his work, crumbled a mere moment after he locked eyes with someone that looked like Kuroo(that was Kuroo, but he didn’t know that for sure at the time). It took all he had to see his old friend, the person he left behind.

        The single person who was affected the most by his disappearance. The single person he _regretted_ leaving behind. It plagued him for so many years. Why didn’t he bring Kuroo with him, why couldn’t he just have stuck it out, was it really that bad? He had Kuroo with him. If worse came to worst, he could always pack his bags and live with Kuroo. _Why hadn’t he done that?_

         “Kenma,” a certain ginger boy popped into his vision, a smile on his face. Kenma pushed his thoughts into the back of his mind—he would see Kuroo tomorrow he would worry _then_ —and smiled down at his friend, “How are you today?”

         Ah, the question that Hinata asked, without fail, every day. Kenma just shrugged and continued on to his locker, Hinata falling into step next to him, “Fine. Had coffee with Kuroo.”

         “Was Kageyama there?” the blond sighed and nodded, wondering when Hinata was going to understand that Kageyama was almost _always_ there. Really, was it a hard concept to grasp? “Did he ask about me?”

         Setting his bag on the bench, Kenma stripped off his shirt and threw it into his locker, “No…you haven’t told him you work with me. Or that you work for a strip club. So,”

         “Oh, right….”

         “You should tell him,” Kenma muttered, pulling off his pants to reveal tight briefs around his bottom. Hinata didn’t answer him for a while, and taking a peak at the ginger boy, Kenma found him studying a small crow keychain. He said nothing.

         “New underwear?” Hinata questioned as Kenma rummaged through his bag for his toiletries bag—he had to cover up those bags under his eyes _somehow_ and wishing them away was not the answer, “It looks really good on you. Gonna wear it tonight?”

         Kenma pulled out the cat themed bag, smiling widely as he revealed it to the light. He was always happy to have the bag, mainly because it was just _so cute_. The other reason was that not many other coworkers of his had the same complexion as him—except Tsukishima, but Kenma knew his was really expensive and therefore didn’t ask—and if Kenma forgot his bag he knew he would be subject to a lot of regulars questioning if he was okay.

         “No, I’m going dark tonight…”

         “Feeling pent up anger?” A new voice broke in, followed by an over dramatic groan from Hinata (which only resulted in the new person pushing him off the bench with a cruel smirk) “I haven’t seen you wear black in ages. Something rile the kitty up?”

         Kenma turned, a yellow makeup stick pointed at the intruder, a small frown on his face, “Tsukki,” he said mildly, golden eyes narrowing a bit when the other blond sat down, “Long time no see.”

         Tsukishima shrugged minutely, a smile on his face. Kenma knew that smile well—he lived with that smile for almost four years—and scowled in response to it, pointedly turning his head and applying his makeup. “I wanted to check up on my favorite person in the _entire_ world, so sue me.”

         “I’m positive that I’m not your favorite person. I believe that was Akiteru, and look how well _that_ turned out,” he heard Hinata give an ‘ooo burn’ behind him, and covered his smile by pressing his lips together as he put the yellow concealer stick down, grabbing the lavender one from Tsukishima, “Thanks,” he mumbled.

         “Whatever, don’t overthink it,” there was mirth in that tone, and Kenma didn’t even flinch when a heavy hand landed in his hair and ruffled it—he only complained and half-heartedly tried to move away. Tsukishima had done too much—had helped Kenma with _so much_ —that they had formed a sort of unlikely friendships.

         “Oi, Tsukki,” Hinata called from across the room, clad only in a pair of speedos. Kenma heard the blond huff, but kept his mouth shut. Tsukki like Hinata as much as he did (called him a valuable friend to Kenma at one point) but the way they acted was someone had mixed water with oil. They just didn’t _work_.

         “What do you _want_ , shortie?”

         “Well first of all, who the fuck dumped cereal on you this morning, I just wanted your attention,”

         Kenma just calmly applied his makeup, his background music and inspiration for the nights look fueled by the ongoing bickering behind him. With careful precision, Kenma curled his eyelashes, and applied a bit of mascara on them before placing little individual eyelashes on his normal ones with glue, careful not to blink as the glue dried.

         For his eyes, he did a simple smoky eye, all dark eye shadow offset by a bright (but not neon) blue liner that Kenma winged out and back in to frame his eyes.

         “You look on top of your game tonight,” Hinata piped up, the bickering at a cease-fire for the moment, “A pop of color for the dark mood?” Kenma only hummed, making sure he got the other eye right and _thank_ god he did. Really, he didn’t want to spend the next fifteen minutes taking off his eye makeup _just_ because he fucked up.

         “Tsukki!” his friend rose to his feet, striding out of the room without another comment.

         “What was _his_ problem?” Hinata asked once he knew that Tsukki wasn’t going to hear him.

         “Yama…probably needs help with makeup or something.” Kenma said softly, applying a shimmery lip balm to his chapped lips.

         “Why doesn’t he just ask _you_. You know so much about makeup, you really should go into the modeling business or _something_ you’re just so pretty.” Hinata bounced over to Kenma, and even though Kenma couldn’t see the ginger he could feel his heat  hovering around his shoulder, “You could get out of here,” he said quieter, “Leave and not look back and have a _life_.

         “This is my life.” His words were cold, and turning his head so he could stare at Hinata got how he felt about the situation across rather well, “I can’t go back, you know that—you _know_.”

         “Fuck, calm down, I know, I know,” Hinata bit at his lip before rushing forward and pulling Kenma into a loose hug, “I’m sorry I didn’t want, I don’t mean to go back.” He squeezed Kenma ever so slightly before pulling away a grin on his face, “I just want you happy and safe!”

         Kenma didn’t reply, only nodding once. After that they lapsed into a fairly comfortable silence.

* * *

 

         Kenma ended up dressing in a loose black crop top, the words ‘bitch’ imprinted in a bold white text. Underneath was fitting bandeau, a zipper on the side for easy removal. His shorts were less shorts and more underwear. And tight enough that he couldn’t _wear_ his briefs (instead he wore a nice bright blue g-string which was just as comfortable considering Kenma was used to this). Unlike the other strippers who danced and used the pole like him, Kenma refused to wear shoes. He felt off while pole dancing with them, and the landing felt awkward. However he didn’t like things _not_ being on his feet, so paired with his tiny black shorts, he donned shimmery black tights, and when they hit the light _just_ so, they exploded with bits of color. As did all glittery things acted when light shone on them.

         Dancing came second nature to him now, after doing it for over a decade. Stepping onto the dark stage no longer felt terrifying to him—he had cast away his old self and rebuilt himself _on this very stage_ —he owed the music, the art of stripping, his life. It accepted him, embraced him in such a way no one ever had. His heart was used to this by now, matching the beat of the bass that thrummed through his body. Fingers slicked through his hair, damp with water, his cold eyes scanning the crowd. They weren’t watching him, not entirely. Kenma was used to this—he _wanted this_. This was his life, he ate, drank, slept, worked out, all for moments like _these_.

         The ticking sound that started up the track poured across the stage in staccato jerks, and Kenma reacted the same way, jolting his body in time to the bass, while still keeping his movements fluid. His body rolled with the music, hands pushing up under his shirt to reveal more of his skin before smoothing it back down, a quick grin flashed to the audience as they got out dollar bills and teased him to come closer.

         He accepted their challenge and stalked closer, dropping down with his legs spread open, an eyebrow raised as some took a step back—obviously not thinking that Kenma would get that close _that_ quickly. He took the money with little plucks of his fingers and stuffed it in his bandeau for the time being. Resting his weight on one leg, Kenma swooped down onto so that his body was entirely flat on the stage for a single moment before his legs worked under him, raising his ass in the air. He wiggled it tauntingly, keeping a small smile to himself when a few called for his ass to move closer to them. He merely shook his head and rolled his body back onto the tips of his toes, making his way to the pole.

         Kenma felt like a different person on the stage. He didn’t fear people looking at him. He didn’t fear sexual contact—faked at the pole or people fondling him through his thin clothes. Fingers threaded through his hair, gripping the chin length locks and pulling back as his mouth parted and a gasp forced his way through his lips, hips bucking forward against the poll and rolling up. Legs curled around the pole and blond hair fell through Kenma’s fingers and he heaved himself high enough on the pole before he let go and swung down, his legs keeping him grounded on the metal bar. His top fluttered to the floor, and a few cat calls rang out over the music. He slid a little down the pole, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Using the ab muscles he worked so hard to get, Kenma righted himself and held on for a moment with only his arms as his legs swung around to gain enough momentum for Kenma to ‘curl’ himself up the bar.

         The moment before the bass dropped again, the bar was gripped tight between his thighs, Kenma letting himself fall back as his body thudded with bass. Next his arms gripped the bar and Kenma let his legs fall, holding them in a straddle position as his fingers teased the black material of his shorts to show his ass just a little bit. He saw more money land on the stage and smiled, letting his legs fall more and bring him back to the ground. He turned to face the crowd of people, ass pressed up against the pole as he ground against his, mouth working in mimics of gasping breaths. Quick movements of his fingers brought the bandeau off his chest (the money already had been thrown off to the side the moment Kenma got a free moment) revealing his pert nipples. Nails ghosted over the buds, and this time Kenma didn’t entirely fake the gasp that crawled out his mouth, hips jerking forward as pleasure sang through his veins. Those fingers worked their way down to the button of his shorts, toying with it as more money was flung in his direction. He popped open his shorts and with a few quick shakes of his ass (which of course was facing the audience) Kenma wiggled out of his shorts and rolled his hips up, flashing a cold smirk over his shoulder as the music faded out.

         The stage went dark once more and Kenma laughed softly padded back behind the stage, a yawn splitting his lips mere moments later.

         “You did well tonight,” Tsukishima strode beside him, knocking their shoulders together.

         “Was I sexy,” Kenma deadpanned, drawing a startled laugh from the other blond next to him, “I haven’t dropped that much from the pole in a while, I think I need to work more.”

         The laughter stopped immdiaetly and upon reaching the room Kenma called _his_ (though he technically shared it with Hinata and Nishinoya), Tsukishima gripped his upper arm and pulled him around so that they faced each other.

         People sometimes thought that Kenma and Tsukishima shared a parent. They both had blond hair (though Kenma often forgot his dye his roots until Tsukki or Akiteru said something) and golden eyes. Neither liked to talk all that much, and each had their own version of the patented ice cold look. Kenma just liked to think that he learned that from Tsukishima in the years that they lived together. After being so close for so many years, it wasn’t really all that surprising that they picked things up from each other.

         “What you _need_ to do is stop fucking doing what Akiteru did,” Kenma froze for a beat before ripping his arm from Tsukki’s grip, “Kenma, I just want,”

         “I’m not going to die. I’m not that dumb. I’m not like him. I won’t abuse it. I just _need_ it. I need…I need to not think sometimes…” he trailed off, his body slumping. Tsukishima caught him with ease, eyes bright with worry even as his lips were pulled into a scowl.

         “You’re a fucking idiot then,” he snarled lowly, sighing as Kenma just shrugged at him and began to wash his face, “Don’t come crying to me when everything falls apart and you can’t afford your addictions.”

         “I won’t, I promise,” is all Kenma says in response. When he finishes cleaning his face, Tsukishima is gone.


	6. Fix You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lights will guide you home_   
>  _And ignite your bones_   
>  _And I will try to fix you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hAPPY BIRTHDAY KENMA it's not midnight here but i refuse to wait and then die in school tomorrow  
> //laughs and cries 
> 
> on another note, this is the last thing that is written in my documents, so when the next chapter comes out is totally up to when i have time to write between high school (b/c now im back in school) and my college classes. 
> 
> also i had a job interview today so if i get that job it might get REALLY hard, but! just a warning, okay??

        Kuroo is at his house, television blasting, when the doorbell rings. He ignores it—assuming it to be some drunk dude or some insane fan—but it rings again. And again. It’s not late enough to be asleep, and Kuroo realizes that the person either has done their homework on him, or it really _is_ someone he knows. Either way it irritates him that he has to get up and walk to the door. An insult is on the tip of his tongue as he yanks the door open, only to dies upon seeing who it is.

         “…you should have expected this…” the person says, and it takes all of Kuroo’s willpower to not slam the door in the person’s face.

        Instead Kuroo just breathes deeply, his hands tightening into fists, “Kenma,” he exhales, staring down the blond boy. His hair looks oily and matted. His hands are nervously picking at a loose thread on his sweater—it was almost September it was still _hot_ why did he have a sweater?—nails chewed down to the skin and knuckles looking raw. Like he had punched someone, “Where have you _been_?” he wonders softly, and it is then that those golden eyes snap up to meet his and Kuroo almost stumbles back at the pure intensity of them. _Help me_ they scream at him. It is then that Kuroo takes in the fact that Kenma is shivering—shuddering more like it—in his doorway.

         “I…have no one else…” Kenma says these words slowly and deliberately, like each word is a task for him, like his throat is raw. He had been absent for a _month_ —and anything could have happened. He could be dying, sick, totally fine, or have something _totally_ wrong.

         “Come in, come in,” Kenma is ushered in, but instead of the hustle that Kuroo expects, he gets slow stuttered steps, “Kenma are you okay?”

         “…no,” It’s broken and hurt and in such _pain_ that Kuroo freezes and glances back at the boy, seeing unshed tears in his eyes, “I’m…”

         “Okay,” Kuroo finishes for him, stepping forward only to pause when Kenma flinches back, “you’re going to be okay.” He holds out his hand, waiting for Kenma to place his own in his palm.

         With gentle and sure tugs, Kuroo leads the boy to the bathroom, clearing a spot on his counter before glancing back at Kenma, “I’m going…to need you to take off that sweater.” The words cause the blond boy to freeze up, looking as if he was about to flee, but soon enough he is tugging the sweater slowly up and over his head.

         What Kuroo sees almost brings him to his knees. He wants to press his hands against Kenma’s chest, rub them down his arms. He wants to place kisses on each and every mark that mars his skin. Instead he motions for the boy to sit on the counter, ducking under one of the sinks so he can pull out some bandages, rubbing alcohol, and cotton pads.

         He was never any sort of medical master, nor did he ever want to do anything with the medical field, but Kuroo is quick with his hands, and each movement of his fingers is put to good use. He wipes down Kenma’s body with a damp washcloth first—for once the boy not flinching at the contact—before he wets a cotton pad and presses it against the shallow cuts that are scattered across his chest. There are a few deep wounds that aren’t really _cuts_ but more like bite marks gone too far, and Kuroo’s hands itch to punch the guy who hurt this little angel.

         “Where were you?” he asks again, trying to distract Kenma from the pain of the disinfectant.

         “Work,”

         “You’re other job then?” Gold eyes look down on him, he can _feel_ them, but Kuroo doesn’t look up from the task at hand.

         “Yeah…”

         “What happened?” he’s trying to distract himself from the marks on Kenma’s chest. They didn’t look in _any_ way, accidental.

         “…I backed out of a deal…” He seemed so upset that he did that, and that little wrinkle that usually settled nicely between Kenma’s brows was creased up, “I…couldn’t handle what he wanted to do. So I left.”

         Kuroo took one of Kenma’s hands and wiped the alcohol soaked cotton ball sweep over the dark bruises on his wrist, “What did he want from you?”

         He repeated the action on the other wrist, disposing of the cotton ball and snagging a new one, going over other marks he had left unattended, “He was rough…too rough. He _hurt_ ,” the words were punctuated by a wince as Kuroo pressed the cotton down on a nasty (but shallow) mark near his nipple, and Kuroo mumbled out an apology, “He didn’t…stay to the terms we agreed on…so I told him I quit.”

         “Did you have to give the money back?” Kuroo was fully prepared to give Kenma whatever money he lost.

         Kenma shook his head, “I…got away. Besides, he violated terms,” Kuroo hummed and stood up, back popping at the movement.

         “You’re gonna need to take off your pants.” The words made Kenma’s lips into a frown, “I’m assuming he marked you up there as well,” Kuroo smiled softly, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his sweats, “I just want to make sure you’re okay, alright?”

         Kenma nodded a few times, but hesitated on the button of his jeans. Kuroo got the hint—however slight it was—and told him he was going to text his boss that he wasn’t going to go in for work and left the bathroom.

                 _To: Akaashi_

_wont come in tmw. kenma came bck_

         He tossed his phone on the bed, turning back to the bathroom before he doubled back and snagged some sweats and one of his hoodies from his closet so that Kenma had something to change into.

         Cleaning up the insides of Kenma’s thighs was not only painful for _Kuroo_ but it had to be painful _and_ embarrassing for Kenma. Unlike his neck, which featured only a few deep bites, his thighs were littered with them, and in some places it looked like the person actually attempted to _eat_ him.

         “Sorry,” Kuroo muttered as he pressed disinfectant against one of the wounds, tempted to press a kiss to the inside of Kenma’s knee to distract him. The opportunity came moments later when Kenma pressed his leg against the side of Kuroo’s face, and it was too much to fight as Kuroo nuzzled the soft skin—luckily free from any wounds. Kenma said nothing about his actions.

         “…how many more?” Kuroo glances up to see the boy worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes flicking around the room in obvious discomfort.

         “Just a few,” Kuroo replies with ease, making quick work of the last marks. He gently wraps the boy’s thighs in some bandages, to avoid the bite marks rubbing together and causing more discomfort, before he arches his back and stands, “There. All done.”

         “Thank you,” It sounds grateful, even if it is rather soft and hard to hear.

         “Anytime,” Kuroo says as he cleans up the small mess he made, watching Kenma sit on the counter and fold his hands in his lap over and over again, “You can sleep on my bed if you want. I’m sure the couch won’t kill me for a night.”

         “I don’t want…”

         “Nah, nah,” Kuroo waves his hand, ducking down to put the supplies used back under the sink, “I don’t mind at all.”

         “…to sleep alone. Um…” Kenma looks up as Kuroo does; his face flushed a light pink and that bottom lip back between his teeth.

         “Oh.” Is all that makes his way past Kuroo’s lips, but before Kenma can retract his statement, he’s shrugging (even though inside he is bubbling with _glee_ ) a grin on his face, “That’s fine too. Don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

         Kenma nods, “…yeah…” his lips work to say, but it’s soft enough that Kuroo can barely hear it and continues talking, obviously babbling nervously.

         “There are clothes right there, you see that? They might be a little big, but I think you can manage to roll the pants or something. I’ll be…I’ll be in the kitchen. You want tea?”

         The blond shakes his head and Kuroo give a short nod, willing himself to not fucking _speak_ , lest he make a bigger fool of himself. So he does what he says he’s going to do, backing out of the bathroom—closing the door behind him because he knows how important privacy is to Kenma—and making his way to the kitchen, fingers itching to do something.

         When Kenma reemerges from his room, Kuroo is nursing a honey-ginger tea, breathing in the scent with a content smile on his face.

        “You gave that to me,” Kenma states, fiddling with his hands again. Kuroo offers him a mug—because he knew Kenma would accept—just so the boy can stop doing that. The blond takes it, but he takes to biting at his lip again and Kuroo just _cannot_ win, “When I was sick…you had the barista bring me some…”

         “Oh,” it’s really the only thing Kuroo trusts to come out of his mouth at the moment, but sadly it makes him sound like an idiot. Which he _is_ but really, that is not the point, “Yeah, I guess I did. Did it make you feel better?”

         Kenma parts his lips and licks at them like he is about to say something, but stops himself and nods, sipping at the warm mug of liquid in his hands. It may be September, but fall hung in the air, turning the once muggy nights cool and breezy. “…yeah,” he finally murmurs, eyes staring at the honey colored liquid in his mug.

         Kuroo’s lips twitch up into a smile, but he tamps it down with another drink of his own tea. They fall into a peaceful sort of silence, but Kuroo knows—knows from recalling those hazy memories of his childhood—that Kenma is tense. His wounds likely still hurt, he was _still_ shaken up (which was a given), but Kuroo noticed the blond sending him worried glances every now and then, careful not to stare too long.

         “I won’t…” Kuroo sighed and placed his mug on the counter, taking Kenma’s from his hands when it was offered out to him, “I won’t ask you the details,” he met those gorgeous golden eyes and pasted a calming smile on his face, “You’re safe, so you don’t need to worry. If you want to tell me, you can. I won’t pry.” Kenma just nodded at him and fiddled with his borrowed clothing—much too big but he looked comfortable at least.

         “Can we sleep?” Kuroo grunts in affirmation, planning on washing the mugs in the sink and putting them away. A little tug on the hem of his shirt causes his hands to freeze. Turning to look over his shoulder, Kuroo sees the blond gathering his shirt in his hands, the tugging growing more insistent, “…please,” it wasn’t quite begging, but it wasn’t a question either; a hesitant statement.

         Kuroo vows to himself that the dishes can wait and nods, letting Kenma take the lead back to the bedroom. He watches as Kenma pulls back the covers with shaking fingers, glancing away only so he could close the door. “Ku—” Kenma sounds part of his name before stopping, and glancing back at the boy, Kuroo sees his lip between his teeth.

         He says nothing about it, instead switching off the light and making his way to the bed, sliding under the covers almost silently. “I’m not going to disappear,” he says softly into the still air, “If you say my name, I’m not gonna vanish.”

         Instead of using his words, Kuroo feels the boy shift closer to him, fingers clenching his shirt and pulling him to the middle of the bed. Kuroo follows his request without question, letting the blond take solace against his chest.

         “I’m sorry,” the words are muffled by fabric and his _chest_ , but Kuroo hears them all the same, “I…can’t give you answers I can’t tell you _I can’t_ ,”

         Kuroo wraps his free arm around Kenma’s waist, loose enough that the boy could pull back if he wanted, “Ya know, I waited 13 years,” he snorts, a soft sound that still manages to echo in the otherwise silent room, “I’m sure I can wait a few more. Whenever you’re ready.”

         There are no more words spoken, except for a near silent ‘thank you’ Kenma mutters as he falls asleep.

         He stays awake for the better portion of the night, his hand alternating between rubbing soothing circles into Kenma’s lower back and threading his fingers through his hair. In the end, Kuroo succumbs to the tiredness that pulls at his eyelids, drifting off with his chin gently rested on Kenma’s head.

* * *

 

         When Kuroo wakes up, Kenma is curled tight against his chest, legs intertwined with Kuroo’s. It takes a while to figure out why Kenma was there, the previous night’s event slowly filtering into his half asleep consciousness.

         It reminded him of years and years ago, the days they spent tangled between the sheets, snickers escaping Kuroo as Kenma huffed at him because Kuroo made him lose the level _again_. Kuroo recalls playing video games together—but rarely playing the same one. Kuroo was more of a console person, while Kenma enjoy handhelds. Maybe because then he could always have them on him. He remembers playing on his consoles with Kenma in his lap, quietly playing his animal world games, or _pokemon_ (which Kuroo bought a handheld just so he could connect with Kenma and they could battle each other).

         The two of them, laying like this, makes him think of those days long lost in the haze of summer. A distant memory that tastes bittersweet in the back of his mouth part mournful that he would never get those days _back_ —not like they were back then—part thankful that he could still recall them. He waited 13 years for something like this, for Kenma to be laying in his bed. Over a decade to see that blond hair fan around his cheeks, blond lashes flush against skin, lips parted as he took in deep breaths. It was with a start that Kuroo realized that he wanted _more_.

         A more he could not have.

         Slowly he managed to disentangle their legs, uncurling Kenma’s fingers from the fabric of his shirt, slipping out of the room with only a warm spot on the bed and a soft rustle of wind giving away that he was even there at all.

        Coffee was the first thing on his list of things to do in the morning. Just because Kenma was there, did not mean he was going to change what he did in the morning. One cup of coffee as he browsed through his emails, another for social media. By his third cup, he was fairly awake and writing. Sometimes he finished the third cup, other times it was forgotten in the haze of fingers flying across the keyboard. Rarely there was background music. Maybe the sound of rain for more somber scenes, other times Kuroo would open his window and let the fresh air in (as long as nothing was falling from the sky). He was going to stick to his list of things he normally did. Kenma was gone for a month, he could live without him in the house, so he could _surely_ live with the boy sleeping on his bed.

         _Surely_.

         And that was how Kuroo found himself making eggs and bacon and French toast. Not for Kenma, he just happened to accidently double the batch. Really, it was just a coincidence. “Kenma?” Kuroo nudged his bedroom door open, seeing the blond curled around his pillow. _Cute_.

         “Kenma, it’s time to get up,” he tried again, to no avail. Setting the boy’s plate on his nightstand, Kuroo sat on the bed and let the back of his knuckles trail along pale flesh. The late morning light peeked through the cracks between his curtains, and Kuroo saw how dark the bags under Kenma’s eyes were. He was torn—on one hand they were likely there because he was tired, but likely also because he hadn’t eaten well while he was gone. “Kenma, come on. I made breakfast.” With a gentle grip, he shook the blond’s shoulder, pulling away when gold eyes snapped open.

         “…yes?” scared. Kuroo had scared him. How else was he supposed to wake the boy though? Saying nothing, Kuroo jerked his head to the plate next to the bed, “I’m not hungry.”

         “Yeah well, I’m not sure when you ate last, so I made breakfast,” Kenma looked ready to protest again, “If I have to, I will sit here and watch you eat it.” They had a stare-off for a few brief moments before Kenma ducked his head down and sat up, snagging the plate and taking a few bites.

         “…it’s good, thanks.” Kenma slowly stuffed food into his mouth, but after a few bites, the movements came faster until soon enough the plate was cleared.

         “I knew you were hungry.” Kuroo grabbed the plate from the other’s hands and stood up, “You can shower if you want to, or go back to bed,” he paused in the doorway, wondering if he should close it or not.

         “Where are you going?”

         “Me? Oh, I’ll. Be in the living room most likely. I got some inspiration in the middle of the night, I want to get it down before I forget it all again.” Kuroo grinned before he turned back around and padded out of the room.

         At exactly five thirty, Kenma told him he was going to work, and Kuroo wished him a good night, saying that he would leave the door unlocked if he went to bed before Kenma came back home.

* * *

 

         They maintain this balance for a good few weeks. Kenma still sleeps with Kuroo, still hesitantly asks him if he can come to bed every night. Kuroo has gotten used to running his fingers through blond hair, pressing his lips against the top of Kenma’s head as he slept. There was a time Kenma _wasn’t_ sleeping, which led to some awkward stuttering on Kuroo’s part, but Kenma just nuzzled against his collarbone and told him it was acceptable. The word made him pause; acceptable.

         It was okay to feel this affectionate toward his friend. In fact, Kuroo was fairly positive that Kenma felt the same way. But _acceptable_. Such an odd word to use in a situation like this. Something, some part of Kenma was scared about the whole thing. Which is why Kuroo kept his affection to a bare minimum. In fact, he rarely showed said affection outside of the gentle presses of his lips against Kenma’s hair, and later on his temples. Kenma wasn’t okay with his actions—no matter what he said. Kuroo would take this at his pace.

         Kuroo never got a key for Kenma, though after he let it slip that the blond was residing in his house, both Bokuto and Lev had cat called at him, saying that he was _definitely_ moving too fast. He did take to leaving the backdoor open and the gate unlocked. Few people knew where he lived, not unless his fans had gotten a hell of a lot more creative with how to figure out where he resided, so he knew he was relatively safe.

         After about a week of Kenma making Kuroo house his new home—not that Kuroo _minded_ —he had disappeared for a few days, coming back looking tired. Kuroo pieced together what Kenma had been up to and made pasta for the boy to eat, ignoring the shameful look those blond eyes gave to him. Ignored the ‘I’m sorry’ that was breathed against his chest that night, the soft kiss near his heart. He just hugged the boy against him tighter, wishing with everything that he was weaker man. A weaker man would demand that Kenma stop sleeping with people, stop pole dancing, and just fully rely on Kuroo. But Kuroo knew he couldn’t do that. Just as Kuroo had lived without Kenma for over a decade and learned to live by himself, Kenma had done the same. Except with little to no help. At least Kuroo got a few more years of growing up before he left his house. They were just finding each other now—with memories they didn’t share, with tastes and opinions that had surely changed over the years apart. They didn’t know where to start.

         Kenma steals one of Kuroo’s drawers one week, a drawer that only kept his extra notepads. He filled it with some of his clothes and the things he often threw into his bag before he left for work—extra underwear, a toothbrush (on top of the one sitting with Kuroo’s in the bathroom), and his makeup bag.

         Kuroo had taken to making a little bit extra each night, stowing it away for when Kenma got home to eat. When he had extra time—or just didn’t feel like doing anything all that productive—he would make Kenma a light snack to take to work.

         They spent Halloween apart; Kuroo out with his friends and Kenma working. They didn’t run into each other until halfway through the next week, with Kuroo working earlier in the morning and not coming home until Kenma was gone. Even though one of them was almost never fully conscious when the other came home, Kuroo had programed his body to let Kenma slide between his arms and press a messy kiss near his hairline. Sometimes he would hear the boy huff out a laugh and give him an answering kiss somewhere on his chest, but Kuroo was certain he had dreamed those up.

         It happens one night. One night in the middle of a week where Kuroo had smiled at Kenma when he woke up and Kenma had nodded at him, grabbing a cup of coffee (he always gave half of it up to Kuroo) and settling himself between Kuroo’s legs. It was like all those years back, and every time Kuroo thought about it, his cheeks got all warm and his heart swelled in his chest. It happened on a night Kuroo happened to stay up. It was something Kuroo would never forget.

         Unlike previous nights, where Kenma would see him and give a tired tilt of his head before heating up the food left for him and curling against Kuroo as they watched late night shows or reruns of the news from previous hours, the blond stumbled in with a pale face and glassy eyes. Kuroo heard the bang of a body hitting the wall and sat up, staring at boy.

         “Kenma?” he licked his lips, knowing for certain that the boy was not okay, but unsure what he should do in these situations. Was he sick? Having an allergic reaction? When Kenma doesn’t respond to him, just slumps against a wall, visibly shaking, Kuroo calmly rises from his seat, pushing back panic as he approaches the smaller boy, “Kenma are you alright? Can you, are you…please tell me you’re okay.”

         “Go away.” The words are spat with venom, dark and hurtful. It takes all of Kuroo’s will power not to press Kenma against the wall and stare at him until he breaks. He knows, he _knows_ something is wrong. This is not his Kenma. This isn’t the boy that kisses his chest at night and give him sleepy smiles in the morning. This Kenma isn’t the Kenma that settles between his thighs and drinks coffee late in the day, nor is it the Kenma that stares at him longingly, those eyes glancing from Kuroo’s eye down to his lips and back.

         “Kenma I just—”

         “I-I said. I said. _Go away_.” Kuroo still ignores him, hoping that Kenma would break and confess what happened to him, but looking at how Kenma holds himself—knees drawn to his chest, fingernails digging deep into his arm—he comes to the conclusion that what he wants isn’t going to happen.

         When he makes a motion to touch the boy, Kenma jerks back, those arms flinging out to grab at Kuroo’s shoulders and _push_ him away. He pauses, giving a small incline of his head, “You should wash up.” Is all he says, settling a bit away from the freaked out blond, giving him room, “You need to wash up and go to bed and you will be fine in the morning, I promise.” The words sound hallow, even to him. Who is he promising? Himself, or Kenma?

         Kenma does stand on his own after a bit, stumbling a few steps before tripping when the tile under his feet turns to carpet. Kuroo hurries over, hearing the blond hiccup out a cry. Without saying anything, he scoops Kenma up in his arms, quickly walking to the bathroom and setting him on the toilet as he runs the bath.

         “You’re hot, what’s wrong. Are you sick? Did something happen at work?”

         “I’m fine, I’m fine. Shut up…shut up. Just. Stop talking, please stop,” Kenma rambles on, dazed enough that he lets Kuroo take off his clothes and place him in the bath, “I don’t need your help, I don’t need, I don’t. I can do it, I don’t _need_ you. I never needed you, I will never need you. I wont depend, I refuse I—” He ends off in a broken sob, clenching his arms, nails once more digging into the skin.

         Kuroo sits there, unsure if Kenma is talking _to_ him or if he is talking to himself. “I’m going to get you clothes,” he says as Kenma still mumbles to himself. As he turns he notices the blond start scratching at his skin, and makes haste to snag some pajamas from Kenma’s drawer. He hears more sobs come through the open doorway to the bathroom, followed by the tell-tale sound of a choked retching. Kuroo freezes, fingers tightening around the clothing in his hands. For a moment he wishes he was Akaashi—or Yaku—always able to handle situations like these with such calm and sureness that Kuroo never learned to have.

         He returns with the clothes once the sounds of puking have vanished, cursing low under his breath when he sees Kenma’s face blotchy with tears, arms red (and in some spots bleeding). There is vomit on the corner of his mouth, and without even thinking about it Kuroo wipes it off with the pad of his thumb before smearing it on his jeans. “Do you feel better?” he asks lowly, wincing when those glassy gold eyes latch onto him.

         “I…Kuroo.” _Oh_ how he wishes the first time Kenma said his name was not right now. Not now, not during this, “Kuroo, Kuroo, _Kuroo_. I need. I need you.” Kuroo just nods his head slowly, pushing Kenma along in his speech, “I have. A box. Under your bed,” Dread slowly fills his heart, flowing steadily across the rest of his body, “I need it, I need to feel better, I need you. I need you to get that. Get that…for me.”

         He’s so tempted to say no, to tell Kenma that whatever he is going through _will_ end. But Kenma resumes picking at his skin, and Kuroo realizes that the boy never really stopped shaking. Those glassy eyes dart around the room, staring at things with unseeing eyes. It’s creepy. It’s not Kenma.

         Was this the real Kenma? A broken shell of a boy who relied on _something_ to keep him sane throughout the day? If this was the real Kenma, who kissed his skin in the middle of the night and settled between his thighs during the day? Who was _that_ boy?

         In the end, Kuroo does as Kenma tells him, bringing a small shoe box to the boy’s shaking fingers. With quick movements, the box is flipped open, and a small syringe is pulled out. Kuroo feels his blood freeze all over again, wanting to snatch the vile substance away from his friend—away from the boy he _loved_ —but he can’t bring himself to do it. Not with the smile on Kenma’s face, a smile so serene that Kuroo isn’t sure what to make of it. He watches, frozen, as Kenma finds a vein in his arm, pushing the needle through his skin and pressing down to release whatever he was addicted to into his system. The syringe falls from Kenma’s fingers, splashing in the tub before sinking to the bottom. Kuroo stays still for a moment longer before he jolts back into action.

         “Kenma—” he starts, but is cut off by those golden eyes. Still glassy but seemingly _aware_.

         “…thank you,” Kenma says softly as he shakily stands on his own two feet. Kuroo helps him dry off and get dressed—something he had never had to do before—and gets him into bed.When he turns to leave, Kenma pulls at his night shirt, “Where are you going.” He seems to be calming down, the drug in his system taking its affect rapidly.

         “Turning off the lights,” he pries Kenma’s fingers from his shirt before he leaves, blinking tears from his eyes as he grabs his phone and sends a quick text to Akaashi:

         _To: Akaashi_

_What drugs can be injected with a needle?_

         He doesn’t expect an instant reply, seeing as it was rather late at night—or early morning depending on how one looked at it. Kuroo does end up returning to his bedroom, slipping under the covers. As usual—as if nothing had happened—Kenma curls against his chest and mutters a soft ‘good night’.

         Kuroo does not have a good night.


	7. Sleazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Just grab a bottle, some boys and let's take it back to my basement_   
> _And get sleazy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM HERE AND IM sorta sorry i didnt update like half of this was written but i was so tired this week and. i got that job so. ten days or more between updates is gonna be normal. super sorry but i gotta make some bank if i want to spend said bank on dumb anime figurines and kickass sweaters
> 
> enjoy this halloween interlude!

          It was like any other day when Kuroo woke up. Except it wasn’t a normal day and it surely was not _any other day_. It was Halloween—aka Kuroo’s favorite holiday ever. Sure, sure, he enjoyed Thanksgiving and Christmas because he got to spent it with his friends. But he spent Halloween with them too.

          See it all started one year when Bokuto and he first met that fateful day in freshman year. They knew they were on the ‘older’ scale for trick-or-treating, but they were also too young to go and buy booze. However, they—being the dumbasses they are—wanted a bit of both. They somehow managed to smuggle some bottles from an upperclassman and binge bought a shit ton of Halloween candy and played truth or dare, taking a shot for every truth and eating a piece of candy for every dare. It was safe to say they threw it all back up early the next morning.

          The tradition stuck, and since that first Halloween together, Kuroo and Bokuto had continued to buy (or smuggle) booze and binge eat candy while playing truth or dare. And now, just under 10 years later—at 29 years old—Kuroo still participated in such events.

          Kenma was curled against his chest as he woke up, and as Kuroo struggled to wake up, he combed his fingers through the soft blond locks, pausing only when Kenma shifted around. Mornings like these were the norm. Nice and quiet, peaceful. Almost as if they were together in these moments. Like Kuroo could kiss Kenma good morning and gather the blond on top of him. As if he could hold Kenma close against his body, hands pressing against his pale skin. When Kuroo woke up to mornings like these, he could pretend they were together.

          They weren’t though, and as much as he enjoyed having Kenma pressed up against him, Kuroo knew that the blond was rather self-conscious of the fact that he only wiggled _closer_ to Kuroo as he slept. So Kuroo slid out of bed, snagging his phone to send his annual ‘happy halloween’ to everyone he knew, and grabbed his coffee

* * *

 

          As he always did, Kenma bid Kuroo goodbye around 5:30, informing him that he would likely not be coming home. Kuroo didn’t ask for the details, and Kenma supplied no more information to him. Thus was their fragile relationship.

          Bokuto came over around 8:30, after Kuroo had dressed up—as a vampire—and passed out candy to the younger children who had a bedtime, a bottle of booze in one hand, and three bags of candy stuffed under the other, “Yo!” he said as a way of greeting, stepping into Kuroo’s house and toeing off his shoes, “How’d your day go?”

          Kuroo shrugged as he opened his mouth to remove the fake fangs from the top row of teeth. He watched as Bokuto made a disgusted face as the sticky strings of saliva that stuck to it, “Normal, I guess. Been looking forward to this all day, you have _no_ idea.” He snatched the bottle of alcohol from his friend’s hand, eying it with a smile, “Good choice,”

          The other hummed, dumping the candy on the counter and shuffling through Kuroo’s kitchen to find a large plastic bowl, “Is everything you fucking own some sort of glass?”

          “I like to be classy,”

          “No, you like to spend your money.” Bokut shot back, giving out a caw of pleasure when he located an old bowl, “Dude. This is the same one from last year. Which was the same one from the year before, which was—”

          “I get your point, shut up.” Next Kuroo took off his cape, hanging it over one of the chairs so that he was only dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, “Where’s Akaashi?”

          There was a moment of silence that passed between them before his owl friend spoke again, “He’ll be here later.”

          Kuroo bit his lip, curious as to what was up between his friends, but opted to say nothing. Best friends were not there to tell everything to, not them. They were friends because they had secrets. And they knew the other kept things from the other, they didn’t need to tell everything to each other. Bokuto was Kuroo’s comfort. His home, the person he could always fall back on. And Kuroo was Bokuto’s home. Even if Akaashi came first in a lot of things, Kuroo stood by his friend no matter what, always there to lend a helping hand.

          “What an ass,” Kuroo said instead of the thoughts running through his mind, “I hope he brings booze to make up for his tardiness.” Bokuto snorted and dumped the candy into the plastic bowl.

          “He fucking better.”

* * *

 

          “Kuroo! Truth or _Dare_ ,” Kuroo snorted behind his hand, eyes dark eyes staring at a very drunk Lev.

           He reached for a piece of candy, popping in his mouth, “Dare,” he grinned, laughing at the booing that Bokuto screamed at him.

          “Uh...” Lev tilted his head back, falling over in the process. Kuroo was slightly worried that the fall had knocked him out—he wasn’t sober by any means—but the silver haired idiot rolled over with a giggle, “Drink the toilet water.”

          “Ooooo shit man!” Kuroo sighed and kicked out a leg to shut his friend up, coughing out a laugh when Bokuto flailed as he tipped over, “Asshole.”

          “Fucker,” he shot back with a smile. His eyes slid back to Lev, grin still in place, “I hate you….so _much_.” He stood with wobbly legs and a sway to each step. The group followed him, cursing and muffled laughter as they bumped into shit around Kuroo’s house.

          Kneeling down at the toilet, Kuroo make a disgusted face. He was glad he had cleaned the toilet earlier in the day, but it was no less digusting to think that he was going to drink from the place he used to piss and shit daily. Cupping his hands, Kuroo brought out a handful of water to his lips, slurping loudly and trying to _not_ throw it all back up. It wasn’t gross—it tasted like water. It was just the knowledge of where it came from that made him so uneasy.

          “You’re so fucking gross,” he said at the end of it all, his nose wrinkled in disgust. Bokuto laughed at him—too loud for Kuroo to put up with—and without a second thought, Kuroo grabbed his friend and stuck his tongue in his mouth, breaking into laughter as Bokuto pushed him away.

          “Dude you mouth was in _toilet water_ ,” Bokuto cried out, wiping his mouth. Franctically he looked for Akaashi and made a move towards him, but the silent figure in the background glared at his boyfriend. Bokuto halted and just continued to wipe at his mouth, “I hate you!”

          “I love you babe,” Kuroo cooed with fake sweetness, as he shuffled the group out of his bathroom and back into the living room where they were set up.

* * *

 

          In the end, Yaku had to make out with Lev’s big toe (Kuroo choked on his beer watching that, it was surely a sight to see), Lev got to mix all the oils and spices in Kuroo’s kitchen and give it to one person (Akaashi) to drink. Bokuto had to not talk for a full ten minutes and if he broke it, he had to kiss Yaku (he managed…somehow).

          In terms of truths, Kuroo revealed that he was totally in love with Kenma, would totally have dated Bokuto if he had been emotionally there at the time of their meeting, and confessed that Yaku was like his mother—only better. Lev loudly (read: drunkenly) proclaimed his love for Yaku and the fact that he totally loved the show Pushing Up Daisies and _no_ they could not laugh at him (they did anyways).

          Bokuto had refused to do many truths, but still managed to be the drunkest of them all. By the end of the night he only had confessed to having a one night stand with Kuroo his sophomore year of college, a fact that had Kuroo tipping over and laughing ( _that was a one night stand?_ Kuroo had said, _I barely got it **in**_ _you before you came_ )

          Akaashi was reserved in his truths, opting for more of the dares. It might have also done with the fact that he and Yaku were more there for support and indulging the other three in their dumb behavior while making sure they didn’t go too crazy, but rarely participating. Over the years Yaku had teetered the fence between being crazy and keeping everyone in line—a skill he worked well with, since Lev _was_ his boyfriend—but Akaashi was steadfast in his ‘staying mostly sober’ during their Halloween get together.

          (it might have had to do with the fact that the first year Yaku and Lev joined them, Akaashi got very drunk and went along with the fact that _yes Bokuto stripping and running down the street screaming at 2am is a good idea_ and they had to all hide behind bushes as cops parolled the streets after some neighbor had seen them running about. How none of them ended up as labeled sex offenders was something they really didn’t understand, but that was the last time Akaashi drank on Halloween.)

* * *

 

          The morning had them all hungover. It was a blessing that Akaashi had requested that they all have off the day after Halloween, something the higher-ups readily accepted due to the fact that one year they had denied their request and had to deal with poorly written reviews and edits on their desk the next day, complete with many curse words on say book edits and desk reports (even from Akaashi)

          When Kuroo woke up, he heard the hushed voices that could only belong to Akaashi and Bokuto. Instead of getting up and joining them like he always did, Kuroo continued to lay in bed. There was something off about them the entire night, they had certainly fought before Halloween night, though Kuroo wasn’t sure about what. As he lay in bed, the voices got a bit louder and Kuroo jumped when a smack sounded—likely a palm hitting his counter. Still, he didn’t move. Whatever issues his friends had, they had to deal with themselves.

          ….he was hungry though. And Akaashi always made them food after such gatherings like last night. Groaning, Kuroo rolled over (ignoring the pang in his chest at the fact that Kenma was not there next to him) and grabbed his phone.

          _To: Akaashi_

_I’m hungry, finish ur fight so I can come out_

          There was a hush in the conversation outside, a low grumble from Bokuto, and the shuffling of plates

          _From: Akaashi_

_You can come out, we calmed down_

          He didn’t say anything at breakfast, and gave a pointed look to both Yaku and Lev not to comment on how he was seated between Akaashi and Bokuto.

          All in all, Kuroo’s Halloween could have been _better_ , but at least it didn’t suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I TOTALLY DIDNT TOUCH WHAT HAPPENED LAST CHAPTER!!! was it intentional? YES.   
> in case u got slightly confused, i back tracked to rIGHT before the last chapter went down. will the next chapter have to deal with last chapter? NOPE. u get a kenma halloween in a kenma pov. hOW COOL IS THAT. (u should maybe start crying now tbh)
> 
> also if u want a certain pairing done (like bokaka, or a day of bokuto and kuroo hanging out, or yakulev) tell me and maybe i can squeeze in time of them being together. im strongest at kurokens, kenhinas and kagehinas but i can attempt other pairings
> 
> aLSO those dares are things that have happened in my group of rl friends. i was the poor soul who drank out of the toilet (except it was the top part)


	8. Destroya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You don't believe in God_   
> _I don't believe in luck_   
> _They don't believe in us_   
> _But I believe we're the enemy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u have the question 'wow where do u get ur chill music' the answer is from nico. everythin g is nico. nico rules all. just. nico. tbh, i just listen to Nico's hella fantastic [8tracks playlists](http://8tracks.com/alphaidiot) and he always has something for me to listen to. //always//
> 
> anyways enjoy another intermission of halloween time. #hell yeah

It was odd, feeling like he belonged so early in the morning. Usually he was itchy in his skin. Felt like peeling it off, like it was _wrong_. But here in Kuroo’s arms, he felt so normal. The buzz was there, like thousands of tiny ants hovering under his skin. But they were not biting at him, his skin didn’t have that itch it always seemed to. Kuroo was like his antidote, and that was terrifying to him. A simple human, a single person was the cure to his madness.

          He woke up as he had been for the past month or so—in Kuroo’s arms. It felt nice, as it always had. He took a little more pleasure in it, knowing exactly what today was. Halloween. He had off from the club that day, since he had a particular client that took up most of him time. He did not tell Kuroo this fact however, since it would just cause the older man to worry about him. Unnecessary worry, considering that Kenma _knew_ that Halloween was Kuroo’s favorite holiday, and worrying about Kenma would only make Kuroo enjoy his Halloween just a little less.

          At his normal departure time, Kenma bid goodbye to his…to Kuroo (since really what were they to each other?) and left, a small smile on his face as the door to the house closed behind him. Today was going to be an okay day. He might not like this client, but they had a wonderful give and take relationship—where Kenma’s end was more taking then giving—and then in the morning when he was done, he could return into Kuroo’s waiting arms.

          As shaky as it was, it was nice having somewhere to return to.

* * *

          His name was Terushima. Certainly he had a first name, but Kenma never asked for it, and Terushima never provided it for him. In terms of who the man was, he had pretty much ruled over the drug underworld from the time Kenma had arrived in this city to the present. His boyfriend was Bobata, another who Kenma didn’t know a full name to. Maybe it was better that way. Terushima did not know his full name either. Few people did—Kuroo and Tsukishima were the only two he could think of. That way, if shit ever hit the fan, Terushima could not rat him out to the police, and in return Kenma couldn’t either.

          On top of Terushima providing Kenma with whatever drug he currently had gotten himself hooked on—from the cigarettes he started with to the drug he was currently shooting up his veins at least twice a day—he was a valuable client. The only issue was that his boyfriend didn’t know of their little deal. It was no secret between any of them that Terushima liked pretty blonds, and Kenma was no exception. But their drug partnership was much different from the one behind closed doors. Bobata knew of the drugs, despite not taking them himself. He did not know of the illict activities that Kenma and Terushima did on a monthly (if not more) basis behind his back. It made Kenma feel sick, but money was money. No matter whose life he destroyed in the process.

          “Long time no see, kitty cat,” the drawl of Terushima’s voice made Kenma’s skin crawl. It was not unlike the ants biting at his skin, but it was also different. It was almost like silk brushing across his skin, tickling the skin and causing the little hairs all over his body to stand at attention, “How have you been?”

          Kenma only shrugged and put his duffle bag down, padding over to the bed that Terushima was currently sitting on, “I’ve been alright,” he started conversationally, pulling his hair back into a low ponytail so that it would stay out of his face. He had the habit of putting it back, but Terushima had the habit of snapping his ponytails. However he would complain about Kenma’s hair being annoying if Kenma ever forgot to pull it back. He settled himself on Teru’s lap, draping his arms across the older man’s shoulders, “How have you been?”

          There was only a noncommittal hum that answered him as Teru nosed at his jaw, making his way up until those eyes were level with his, “I missed you,” Kenma could feel the gust of breath that fanned between their lips, but instead of responding with something curt like ‘I bet Bobata misses you too’, he closed the small distance between them, pressing his lips gently to Terushima’s, sighing softly at the contact.

          They were rarely professional behind closed doors like they were when dealing drugs. Terushima was curt with his business transactions—here are the drugs, I got the money, see you later—but since having sex was Kenma was _Kenma’s_ business, he was able to take his time and savor every bit the other blond had to offer to him.

          Kenma let Terushima flip them around on the bed, the man’s bulk hovering over him in such a display of dominance that he had to hold back a sly grin, “you seem uptight today,” he commently lowly, threading his fingers through choppy blond locks.

          “Rough day working,” was the reply he got, and Kenma knew that he wouldn’t get much more out of the other man, so he just tilted his head to the side and let his breath hitch as Terushima bit teasingly into his neck, “am I free to do as I please tonight?”

          He almost said no, that he was taken, that he had a home to go back to. He thought of Kuroo’s face when he came home—so open and inviting—and that hug he would be wrapped up in. He thought about how nice cuddling with Kuroo was. But Terushima was a client. A client he had been with for years. It would be rude to deny him his way.

          His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by the older man, and Kenma was brought away from his thoughts when hands slid under his shirt and plucked at his nipples. Before he could gasp out, lips descended on his, muffling his whines. “Can I have my way with you tonight?” the question was asked again, and this time Kenma nodded, lips swollen and red with a few strings of saliva still connecting him to Terushima’s equally red lips.

          After that, the rest of the night was spent with Kenma begging for some sort of release, tears streaming down his face as the loving touch on his cock gripped tight the moment he was sure he was going to come. _Not much longer_ Terushima would coo at him, a grin on his face that let Kenma know that he had a long way to go.

          His back arched and bowed that night, arms wrapped around Terushima’s neck, hips bucking as ankles knocked together behind the other’s back. _More, more_ he would plead, nails scraping at whatever skin they could find purchase of, hips stuttering in their messy rhythm. Terushima never gave him more. Instead in those moments he would slow down, listening to the shouts Kenma would let out, only hissing when those nails dug too deep into his skin.

          “Kitty should keep his nails short,” he would mutter against Kenma’s cheek, knowing that if he were to kiss the disheveled boy, Kenma would only pull away to suck in as much oxygen as he could before Terushima forced it out of him.

          “You should just let me come,” Kenma would say in return, shifting his hips and breathing out nice and slow. Only then would Terushima resume thrusting into Kenma.

          He was held off for two hours. Two torturous hours of not being able to come. In those two hours, Terushima had come three different times. Once in his ass, once on his chest, and the most recent time was swallowed down by Kenma as fingers were tangled in his hand and pushing him down hard enough that pulling off Terushima’s dick would have been more trouble than just swallowing the other man’s load. When he was finally able to come—while sitting atop Terushima’s lap, rocking back against those hips thrusting up into him—his entire body shook. Tears fell from his eyes (and gentle but calloused hands wiped them away with care), and his lips parted in a choked shout, hips jerking forward to grind against Teru’s abdomen as pearly white liquid.

          That night Kenma ended up coming three times to Terushima’s six, before he passed out on the bed.

* * *

          In return for his services, Kenma got almost two grand in cash, on top of three nicely sized baggies of the drug of his choice. As he left the bought hotel room at noon the next day, he paused to let Terushima pull him into a long kiss. A kiss that would have turned into more if not for the fact that they _should_ have been leaving and due to the fact that Terushima’s phone beeped at that exact moment.

          Lips still hovering over Kenma’s (and Kenma still on his tip toes awaiting a kiss) Terushima fished out his phone and brought it to his ear, “Hey babe, what’s up?” Kenma started and moved away at that moment, shame flooding his body at the fact that Bobata was on the line _right now_ and Kenma had spent the previous night being fucked by his boyfriend.

          Kenma didn’t bid Terushima goodbye aside from a nod of his head before he closed the door behind him. He paused on the other side, touching his lips before he vowed to take another shower when he got home (it was amazing how much Kuroo’s house felt like home after so little time) and brush his teeth.

          Maybe it would get rid of the guilt that filled his chest. Maybe.

          Just maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hAPPY HALLOWEEN. i havent written smut since that one noncon i did that literally broke my heart. looking back on that, i should probly tag that....s hit. anyways last intermission. next chapter dOES deal with chapter 6. hell yeah. im sure u want to know about that shit, dont u. 
> 
> if u want any side pairing chapters, just tell me and i'll do my BEST to add them in. but i do have this entire fic outlined, so be warned that it MIGHT NOT HAPPEN. so far ppl what more kagehina and bokuaka. the kagehina will be easier than the bokuaka since i had kagehina planned, but i will see what i can do! if u have a specific request like 'bokuaka first meeting' i will put those in separate fic on here, but tie it back to these.


	9. Bloodstream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Words can be like knives_   
>  _They can cut you open_   
>  _And then the silence surrounds you_   
>  _And haunts you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u follow me on tumblr u kno tha t i was screaming about this chapter.  
> if u dont follow me on tumblr, ur missing out on my screaming over this fic (and my gay anime love but thats??? normal?)
> 
> either way enjoy it u fucking nerds
> 
> it only is going to get worse from here

          When Kuroo wakes up the next morning, Kenma is curled against his chest, their legs tangled together as if they belong there. It felt like a normal morning. Like Kuroo was going to do what he always did—lean over and ghost his lips across Kenma’s temple while brushing back that golden hair. It hurt that the morning felt so normal. Who was lying next to him? The Kenma he grew up knowing? The Kenma he had come to know and care for after 12 years of dealing with a heartache he figured he would never get over? The boy, the _Kenma_ , from last night? He wasn’t sure anymore. And it hurt.

          It was a normal morning in some respect, but in others, it was completely different.

Mainly, how Kuroo felt on this morning. Also the fact that Kenma was crying. Unlike their usual mornings—where Kenma was relaxed against his body—the boy’s fingers were curled into fists against Kuroo’s chest, tears silently making their way down his cheeks. It makes Kuroo pause, and for a moment the anger he feels toward Kenma evaporates, his fingers itching to wipe away those tears and tell the boy that _everything is alright_. Kuroo knows that’s a lie though. Everything is not alright, and he isn’t sure if it really ever is going to be. In the end Kuroo opts to just press a kiss to the crown of Kenma’s head.

          “I’m sorry,” the words are muffled against blond hair, but Kuroo really doesn’t think the sleeping boy will hear him anyways. As he pulls back, he lets his hands card through Kenma’s soft hair, his heart doing flips in his chest while his brain is searching for an answer to the many questions Kenma never answered last night. Questions Kuroo never asked, but answers he wants to know.

          In the end, they don’t talk about the previous night. Kuroo doesn’t want to push Kenma but at the same time he doesn’t _want_ to talk about it. He wants to pretend it didn’t happen that it was just a bad dream. That he didn’t have to watch Kenma inject some sort of drug into his system just to feel _normal_. Kenma didn’t mention the night before once. There was no questioning looks in those golden eyes, no started sentences that ended before they could unlock Pandora’s Box. It was as if the boy had the same mindset.

          If they didn’t talk about it, it never happened. If it never happened, there was nothing that really could be said about a ‘last night’. If there was no last night, then everything stayed exactly the same. Shaky, but safe. It was flawed, both knew that. But they didn’t know what else to do. Kuroo was scared of losing Kenma again, and he was sure Kenma felt the same.

          At the usual time of 5:30, Kenma bid Kuroo a goodbye. Kuroo called back his usual ‘goodnight, be safe’, but it was forced. They opted to ignore it.

          Let the wound heal. Don’t talk about it. Pretend it didn’t happen. It would all be okay soon, give it time.

          _From: Akaashi_

_the only thing I can think of is heroine_

          Kuroo didn’t let Kenma into his arms that night.

* * *

 

          The thing about pretending something didn’t happen is that _you_ know it did. Pretending is looking the other way; pretending is acting. You know the truth of the matter, you know exactly what is going on. It’s just hidden from others. Hidden, not talked about, unspeakable. The truth becomes taboo, and the lies—the _pretending_ —becomes your way of life

Kuroo pretends that everything is alright. He forces himself to _not_ think about That Night—which is stupid because if he tells himself to not think about it, he is thinking about it, and that really just defeats the purpose (but really that’s beside the point).

          Kuroo hasn’t let him curl against him since That Night, the night that _did not_ actually happen. Kenma still managed to get under his arms though, and Kuroo isn’t sure if he is unconsciously pulling the boy against him or if Kenma is worming his way between his arms and his chest. Either way, it leaves Kuroo with a pang of anger and confusion and _loss_ that he really can’t explain in the morning. As with Kuroo’s cuddles, the morning kisses to blond hair also disappears.

          They don’t talk about it. Because everything is fine.

          It affects them in ways they don’t want to talk about. Rather ignore it for the sake of _not_ wanting to communicate. Kuroo was scared, worried, upset; he was _angry_. Why hadn’t Kenma talked about this with him? Maybe he would have judged—sure who wouldn’t?—but he would have still loved Kenma. He would have tried to help the boy, set him on the right path, guided him off the course of the obvious addiction he was on.

          _But what if Kenma didn’t want to be saved?_

          The thought hit Kuroo one evening as he was typing, his fingers halting on the keyboard in front of him.

          What if Kenma didn’t want help?

          It was two weeks after the night that didn’t happen. Two weeks of pretending that everything was fine, that Kuroo was slowly getting snappier and snappier with Kenma, that Kenma wasn’t flinching at his harsh words _and_ at the comforting touches Kuroo gives him afterwards.

          What if Kenma was set on hurting himself? Driving him to the edge of sanity? How close was he to falling off? Was it too late to help him, even if he didn’t _want_ help? If his life sucked _so much_ , why was he sticking with Kuroo?

          _What was Kuroo to Kenma?_

          Someone Kenma could use for comfort? His way of crying for help? His solace in his addiction addled brain? The light at the end of the tunnel? Was Kuroo just the medication that helped ease to death? Was Kenma going fall off the edge and drag Kuroo down with him? Was he just there to comfort Kenma at night while the blond dug his grave; to pet his hair and kiss his cheeks as that needle slid under the skin and into the bloodstream?

          Was Kuroo the person that let Kenma forget who he truly was, and made him act like the person he _wished_ he could be?

          So many questions. No answers. It was always questions, never answers.

          That night, Kuroo pulled Kenma against his chest and hugged him close, hoping that the contact would offer some sort of comfort to the hurting boy.

          Kuroo may be angry and confused, but Kenma was a broken boy with no one to turn to. Only Kuroo.

He ignored how Kenma pressed as close as he could get to Kuroo’s body, how that body shuddered every so often with silent sobs. Kuroo closed his eyes and tried not to picture how Kenma’s eyelashes fluttering against his skin, wet with fresh tears.

          Kuroo did not have a good night. But he came to the conclusion that regardless of _why_ Kenma took comfort in his touch and companionship, Kuroo would be around until Kenma pushed him away. In the end, it was all he really could do.

* * *

 

          There comes a day where Kuroo comes home from work and sees Kenma lounging on the couch, flipping through channels with the ease of someone who has lived there for some time. Sitting there and _pretending_. It’s all Kuroo can think about. That he has to pretend. Pretend to smile, pretend to laugh, pretend to show affection and curl up next to Kenma when all he wants to do is demand answers. Answers he knows he will never get. It’s so much easier to just pretend.

          But it’s so much harder too.

          It became a routine. Pretend during the daylight hours only. It worked well because Kuroo was usually gone before Kenma woke up (or Kenma was just waking up and getting coffee as Kuroo was getting ready for work), and by the time Kuroo was getting home, Kenma had already left for his job. But at night, when Kenma came back after a long day at the club, Kuroo would wrap his arms around the boy and they wouldn’t pretend.

          In those moments, those small and brief moments in the darkness, they would cling to each other, communicating not through words, but through gentle touches to skin and Kuroo squeezing the air from Kenma’s lungs with his bone-crushing hugs. It was only in moments like these that Kuroo got to feel the dip of Kenma’s hips, got to trace his jaw and cheekbones with the pads of his fingertips.

          And in the morning, they were back to _pretending_.

          He couldn’t do it anymore.

* * *

 

          “Why?” he asks calmly, staring at the television—more importantly at Kenma—as he toed off his shoes. The channel surfing paused for the smallest moment, gold eyes flicking in his direction before going back to their previous task. The previous, mindless task.

          “I’m bored?” Kenma answers with fake indifference, “I mean I have off work today. And you weren’t home.”

Kuroo grinds his teeth, watching with narrowed eyes as Kenma turns back to the television, lazily flipping through the channels once more.

          _He can’t take it anymore_.

          “Stop. Just stop. Stop lying. Stop _pretending_. I’m sick of it, I’m sick of it all.” He breaks and loosens the hands that clenched into fists without him even realizing it, “Stop pretending I didn’t have to watch you shoot up _drugs_ into your veins.” As he talks he manages to make his way toward Kenma until he is standing directly in front of him. However those golden eyes are blankly staring _through_ him, fixated on the television Kuroo is currently blocking, “ _Kenma_ ,” he begs, “Please talk to me.”

          “I don’t want to talk about it.” Cold, emotionless. Indifferent.

          _He hates it_.

          “Talk to me god dammit.” Kuroo is on the verge of shaking, hands clenching and relaxing as he tries so very hard not to curl them around Kenma’s shoulders and shake him. Maybe it would knock some sense into him. Maybe. Doubtful, but Kuroo would never know, “It’s heroin isn’t it? You fucking are addicted to _heroin_ of all the drugs you could have picked?”

He _is_ shaking now, though his breath remains calm. Only his eyes and the constant tightening of his fingers into fists give away his rattled state of mind.

          “I don’t want to talk about it.” Kenma repeats. Same tone. Nothing changed. Kenma hasn’t changed.

          _He doesn’t know what to do_.

          “Why did you run away? Was your home life that shitty? Did your mother and father not spoil you enough with games? Did daddy—”

          That gets a reaction.

          “I don’t want to talk about it!” This time those golden eyes flick up to meet Kuroo’s, bright with anger and fear and a _pain_ that Kuroo doesn’t understand, “You don’t get to ask those questions.” He finishes softly, resigned in ways that make Kuroo’s heart constrict.

          “Excuse you, you live under _my_ roof, I can ask all the damn questions I want.”

          “Then I’ll move out.”

          “Dam _mit_ , Kenma, I just want you to talk to me. I’m worried about you, is that a crime?” Kuroo steps forward and in response Kenma shrinks into the couch, fear paling his face with such quickness that Kuroo immediately halts his movements.

          “I’m so—”

          “What happened to the boy I grew up with?” Kuroo asks in a softer tone, staring back at those honey gold eyes as they rise to meet his again.

          “I killed him.”

* * *

 

          After that Kenma had left the house. Somewhere between Kuroo telling Kenma to stop being so dramatic and get over his past and going to his room to change. It feels odd that night, sleeping without a warm body pressed against him. It feels worse in the morning when he can’t deliver no sleepy kiss to Kenma’s temple.

          He manages to survive anyway. Kenma had been absent for 12 years prior to their meeting two years ago. He could handle the blond being absent for a day.

          Or two.

          Maybe even three.

          He knows Kenma comes back, comes home. They never fought as kids (unless fighting over which game to play was a serious thing), so Kuroo isn’t sure if Kenma ever got in a real fight before. He knows Kenma comes back because his toothbrush disappears on the second day, his box that rests in his drawer (that they pretended didn’t hold drugs) was gone the next day.

          After a week, Kuroo debates locking the backdoor. Is Kenma still welcome in his house? Does Kenma still want to be in his house? Did he single handedly ruin two years’ worth of mending whatever was shattered the night Kenma vanished?

          Kuroo doesn’t have time to contemplate it much before he feels the bed dip on the eight night of Kenma’s absence. He doesn’t know if Kenma thinks he is awake or not, but either way he rolls over to face the blond. In the almost pitch black room he can make out Kenma’s figure.     

“Kenma,” is all he says before the figure moves, quicker this time. Kuroo barely has time to open his arms and catch the blond as he falls on him, holding him tight as Kenma’s body quakes under his touch. “Kenma…” he says again but it’s all he get out before the blond is shifting in his grip, head lifting to press a damp kiss (broken by loud sobs and snotty sniffs) to the corner of Kuroo’s mouth.

          “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Kenma babbles, hands coming up to curl into fists against Kuroo’s chest. He can feel them shaking along with the rest of the boy’s body.

          _He doesn’t know what to do_.

          With slow movements, only hindered by the fact that the clingy boy on him was no help whatsoever, Kuroo manages to sit up, putting his back against the headboard. With careful touches he maneuvers Kenma to sit on his lap, the blond’s thighs pressing against the outsides of his own.

          “ _Kuroo_ ,” the blond sobs, and Kuroo hushes him gently. Fingers leave the curves of Kenma’s hips to trace along his jaw and up his cheeks, carefully thumbing away the tears etching rivers on Kenma’s face.

          He hates it. The two times Kenma has said his name. Two times in two years. Two times in a single year, two times in the span of less than three months. Each—both—have been when the blond is emotionally unstable. He hates it. _He hates it_.

          (In the back of his mind, he wonders if Kenma is breaking apart at the seams, if those questions he has are still valid. Kuroo pushes them out of his mind, but not without his heart stuttering in his chest.

          Was Kenma falling apart?)

          The tears don’t stop and Kuroo is _tired_ , but Kenma needs him. And Kenma always came first. He came first 14 years ago, and he still takes priority over Kuroo’s own well-being. It was just how he operated. The blond manages to stop with the loud sobbing, simmering it down to broken catches of breath and mindless babbling that alternated between _I’m sorry_ and _Kuroo, please_.

          His thumbs don’t stop rubbing against Kenma’s cheeks, only occasionally pausing to grab the sheets and wipe the dampness from Kenma’s skin.

          “Kuroo,” Kenma repeats, “Testu—” Kuroo leans forward and presses his mouth against Kenma’s, hating that word.

          The last time Kenma said that name, Kuroo lost him a week later.

          ( _Was Kenma falling apart? Could Kuroo do anything to stop it?)_

          So he kisses him silent. Presses his lips against damp, salty lips. And when he pulls back, Kenma is silent, chasing his lips with a softness that reminds Kuroo of their early morning cuddling.

          They kiss until Kenma is sagging against him. Tears still mark his cheeks, but they aren’t as free flowing as they were mere minutes ago. Kuroo’s hands have moved from Kenma’s cheeks to his lower back, pushing the blond closer to him.

          “Kenma,” Kuroo murmurs against the boy’s lips, wet with saliva and likely reddish color.

          Instead of responding, Kenma presses a lingering kiss to Kuroo’s parted lips, gently licking along his gums and running his tongue along the ridges of his teeth. Kuroo relaxes into the warm feelings Kenma is giving him, his grip on Kenma’s hips weakening until his hands can slide down to grip at Kenma’s thighs.

          “Don’t leave me,” Kenma says finally, and Kuroo nods in the darkness as he shifts his body down. This time Kenma is able to move himself off Kuroo, and the two settle back down under the covers.

          (But is Kenma going to leave _him_?)

          “I missed you,” Kuroo speaks after a time. Kenma only answers him with a sleepy grunt.

          Kuroo has the first good night in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so instead of giving u ANY ANSWERS i just give u more questions. i'm sorry (but i really am not whoops)
> 
> i'll likely update again in about a week? sooner maybe if i find time to rewrite parts of the nxt chapter and then write the //next// chapter. 
> 
> uhh my url is still 'skeletonkenma' but idk if i'm going to change it after halloween. if that url doesnt work, i'll be at 'kozumekuroo'


	10. The Driver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There was a time when a moment like this_   
>  _Wouldn’t ever cross my mind_   
>  _The sun will rise with my name on your lips_   
>  _‘Cause everything will change tonight_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO GOT REALLY SICK ON HALLOWEEN BUT STILL WENT TO A PARTY????  
> AND THEN SLEPT OUTSIDE  
> AND GOT MORE SICK  
> AND WORKED FOR THREE DAYS STRAIGHT  
> AND LITERALLY FEELS SO sick rn i feel gross 
> 
> this likely has a shit ton of mistakes and i likely will not fix them unless u point them out to me. but it was edited(ish) by me while i was coming off my medication and my entire body hurts from coughing so i rushed so i could get done, post it, and crawl into bed.
> 
> when will i have time to write again? WHO KNOWS. work wants to actually work me (bless holiday season) and school is being school and i want to finish high school in one month but i have like four classes left and two of them is a semester of MATH and a semester of CHEMISTRY //cries
> 
> ENJOY THE CHAPTER!

          Kuroo takes pleasure in the slowness of the morning hours. How he can sometimes watch the sun rise those last few inches before it peeks over the horizon. How he can stay in bed and just _breathe_ for a little while. The muted light that filters between the crack in his curtains, bathing his room in a cool winter sunlight. But most of all, Kuroo takes pleasure in watching the blond next to him sleep. Golden hair fanning over soft pale skin, fingers curled into loose fists against Kuroo’s chest. The heat that they shared with tangled legs. The coolness of Kenma’s toes against his calves.

          He loved it.

          He could write paragraphs describing how _breathtaking_ Kenma looked in the morning and they would never hold a candle to what the real thing looked like.

          Now, Kuroo really wasn’t a morning person. He would rather sleep until noon before doing anything, would rather sleep in and stay up late. But since he started a job, since he became an adult really, that hasn’t happened. With his copious amounts of coffee that he intakes every morning (three cups) and the amount of coffee he has throughout the _day_ (at most another three cups), it is safe to say that if Kuroo were to wake up any later than seven in the morning, he would be too wired by the time he needed to sleep to get sleep.

          And that would just upset his entire little morning routine the next day. And Kuroo was all about that morning routine (though the amount of times that Kenma broke his routine was too many to count and Kuroo really didn’t care because it was _Kenma_ ).

          Today, Kuroo’s morning routine is broken before he even gets up. Considering the fact that he stayed up much later than normal to comfort Kenma, it’s not surprising that he wakes up closer to 9:30. He wakes up on his back, slowly bringing his eyes into focus as the rest of his body tries to wake up. Kuroo registers the warmth next to him—almost cries because he _missed Kenma so much_ —and shifts ever so slightly to glance at the blond boy.

          Kuroo’s morning routine is completely shattered when he sees golden eyes staring back at him. He masks his surprise at Kenma being conscious (crying takes a lot out of people, Kuroo assumed he was going to sleep a lot more) with a gentle smile, “Morning,” he rasps out, clearing his throat afterwards.

          He watches as Kenma’s eyes dart to his lips before trailing slowly back up to meet Kuroo’s eyes again, “…morning,” its soft but holds just the same roughness from sleep and disuse as Kuroo’s does. It’s…so _Kenma._

          The way Kuroo’s heart swells at the word, at Kenma being next to him again…it should be illegal.

          Unable to stop himself, Kuroo shifts a bit more and brushes his lips against Kenma’s forehead. It’s less of a kiss and more of a desire to shower the boy in affectionate gestures. Anything to make Kenma happy. _Anything_.

          The little touch of contact makes Kenma part his lips in a sigh, and Kuroo grins against the warm skin, pulling away to snort with Kenma pushes at his chest. The blond whines, a high pitched annoyed sound, and Kuroo falls onto his back, watching as Kenma’s lips move in the shape of his name.

          It’s a start at least.

          “Did you hate that so much?” Kuroo teases as Kenma shifts to sit on Kuroo’s abdomen, dragging the thick blanket with him.

          Kenma’s eyes narrow for a moment before his lips tilt into the smallest of smiles, “…shut up,” he mumbles, those gold eyes shimmering (eyes shouldn’t shimmer, Kuroo knows this, but Kenma’s _do_ ) above him. Before Kuroo can get out any other teasing remarks, Kenma is nestling down on his chest, head tucked in the crook of his neck.

          “I missed you,” he says softly as his fingers run up and down the notches of Kenma’s spine, “I missed you so much.” _Don’t leave me again_ , “I never wanted you to leave, I was worried.”

          _He’s so selfish, isn’t he?_

          Silence wraps around them, their body heat making the space under the blanket comfortably warm. Kuroo continues to rub his fingers against Kenma’s back, mentally counting all the notches his fingers can run over.

          “I can’t tell you.”

          The words shatter the peaceful silence and Kuroo’s fingers pause, resting on Kenma’s lower back.

          “I trust you…I trust you but,” Kenma shifts, propping himself up with his elbows on Kuroo’s chest, a frown etched deeply on his face.

          He wants to kiss it away.

          “I just…I _can’t_ tell you,” when tears fill those eyes much like Kuroo assumes they did last night, his heart stops for a moment.

          _Don’t cry_.

          “I’m sorry.”

          He watches with silent horror as the first tears make a path down Kenma’s cheeks; a path that many more follow in the passing seconds.

          Kuroo watches the first few tears fall, spilling down Kenma’s cheeks. In the morning light, the tear catches the light as it pauses on the slope of Kenma’s cheekbones, and Kuroo’s fingers itch to write out exactly how the pale light filtering from between his curtains makes Kenma _glow_. As more tears silently spill from the blond’s eyes, Kuroo lets go of one of his hips in favor of wiping some of the tears away.

          “It’s okay,” he says with a sort of gentle smile, “It’s okay. Take your time,” Kenma nods against his palm, ducking down to connect Kuroo’s lips to his.

          Kuroo doesn’t hear the thank you on Kenma’s breath, but he _feels_ it. He feels it in the way that Kenma licks into his mouth, how the blond’s body slowly relaxes as he maps out the inside of Kuroo’s mouth with his tongue. Kuroo just slowly matches his pace, his hands settling on Kenma’s waist once more. As they pull apart, Kuroo leans up and catches Kenma’s bottom lip between his teeth and gently tugs at it, sucking it into his mouth.

          The soft sigh that Kenma exhales sends tingles down his spine.

          Ruining his morning routine for this was worth it.

* * *

 

          They are lounging on the couch—Kuroo with his laptop and Kenma with his head pressed against Kuroo’s thigh, “What would you do….” He starts. Kuroo’s fingers slow on his keyboard, but they do not stop, “…if I told you I wanted to move out?”

          “I’d let you.” The answer is simple. Really. He might not want to let Kenma go, but he wasn’t Kenma’s keeper. Kuroo had his life, and Kenma had _his_ , and it was only by Kuroo’s insistence and Kenma’s caving in did the two of them find each other again, “If you had the money and the desire to do so, I would let you go.”

          “…what if I didn’t come back?” the words are soft in the otherwise noiseless room, and Kuroo’s fingers _do_ pause on the keyboard.

          “I would miss you,” one of his hands slides from his laptop to curl into Kenma’s hair, snorting softly and at the little hum of enjoyment the blond lets out, “but I don’t own you. Someday you might come back to me.”

          “But—”

          “what would I do if you didn’t?” Kuroo finishes, “then I’ll treasure every memory I have of you forever.” He doesn’t say _I love you_. It’s too overrated. Actions speak louder than words to him. Even as a writer, someone who only uses words to speak his mind, Kuroo has always found his books to be plot heavy, dialog always used only when absolutely necessary to carry the plot. Rarely did he use it just for the sake of the character talking.

          It would be pointless.

          Kenma is silent for the next couple of hours, something Kuroo was used to. The blond only pipes up when he complains that Kuroo needs to make him some coffee, which makes said man laugh.

          “Have I really gotten you hooked onto coffee?” He snorts at Kenma rapid nods, putting his laptop on the coffee table before turning and tilting his head down to capture Kenma’s lips with his own, “You coffee maniac.”

          Kenma smiled at him and curled his fingers through Kuroo’s hair, pulling him down for another kiss. “You reap what you sow,” he breaths against Kuroo’s now damp lips, golden eyes bright with happiness.

          For a moment, Kuroo thinks that maybe, just _maybe_ they can stay like this.

          Just a little bit longer. That’s all he asks for.

* * *

 

          Kenma does indeed move out of Kuroo’s house a few weeks later. Kuroo warns him against it, saying it’s early December and _way too cold to be moving into a new place_ but Kenma just gives him a dismissive look before focusing back on his coffee, taking small sips every so often.

          When Kenma leave, Kuroo pulls him close, hugging him time and wishing him well. Kuroo almost wants to kiss him, to tug Kenma closer against his chest and _keep him there_ , but he doesn’t. He just brushes his lips against the blond’s temple as he lets him go.

          _If you love something let it go. If it loves you, it will come back_.

          He laughs as he closes the door behind Kenma. His house will feel so empty without the blond residing in it. Without Kenma leaving little messes that he _swears_ he picked up. The messy bed sheets (no matter how many times Kuroo fixed them) the television always being on even if it was muted.

          His house feels empty.

* * *

 

          Kuroo gets text messages from Kenma over the weeks of December, ranging from ‘im fine’ to ‘its cold’ to ‘not as many channels as ur tv’ among other dumb and silly things. They don’t see each other often, with Kuroo keeping busy with work and Kenma taking on a few more clients, but they make it happen every now and then.

          His house is still empty, but he gets used to it again. The worst is the waking up. With no Kenma to stare at, Kuroo is left struggling to keep his eyes open, even when his mind is telling him it’s time to get up.

* * *

 

          It was early evening on Christmas Day when Kuroo got a phone call.

          There’s this thing that T.V shows like to do, this thing where the main character is stressing about something. Stressing over something that really shouldn’t be that big of a deal—but for some reason it _was_. And that was when their phone would ring. It was always shrill in the tense scene, this sort of high pitched ringing that _always_ made the main character jump three feet in the air and laugh at themselves because _man it’s just my phone_. They would pick up the phone and answer it with their normal cheery voice, but there would be that underlying hesitation in the tone of their voice.

Because really, in a T.V show, bad things happen when people call during tense situations.

          It happened to Kuroo like that. Except he wasn’t stressed out. Nor did his ringtone make him jump ten feet in the air.

          No, no. The phone call was much more causal than that. Kuroo’s life wasn’t a dramatized show, so everything happened a little more…life-like.

          He had been getting ready for Christmas dinner at Yaku’s, double-checking his phone for the message that told him to just bring flowers and maybe some more of those premade croissants (the ones that only have to be unrolled and baked in the over for a few minutes). Kuroo had nodded his head, to himself of course no one lived with him anymore, and tossed his phone on the couch before wandering back into his room to finish gather up his things.

          That was when he heard it. The muffled sound of his phone ringing. It was a dumb song that came from the radio a few years back, something Bokuto had done to the device when Kuroo first got it and he was just too lazy to change it. He assumed it was Yaku, or Akaashi, and didn’t even bother to check the caller ID before he accepted the call and pressed his phone to his ear.

          “Ay, what’s up?”

          “Is this Kuroo?”

          The voice on the other line was not Yaku, nor was it Akaashi. It was deep and raspy and definetly out of breath, like the person had just run a marathon.

          “Is this Kuroo Tetsurou?” the voice asked again, and Kuroo pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the who was calling him.

          _Kenma_.

          “Yeah, this is he,” he answered calmly. Likely a client. One of Kenma’s clients calling that Kenma was in no position to move and he was going to have to come and get him.

          It was a bad situation, but it was better than the horrible scenarios running amuck in Kuroo’s mind. At least a hurt Kenma was a living Kenma, no matter how bad it was, right?

          “My name is Tsukishima Kei, do you know who I am?” less out of breath now, more controlled. Cold even, cold and indifferent. Unlike when Kuroo had first answered the phone. Frantic to indifferent.

          _What happened to Kenma_.

          “Why do you have Kenma’s phone?” he blurted out, his grip tightening around his cell phone.

          For a few seconds, Kuroo was met with only silence on the other end. And then muffled talking for a few more before this Tsukishima person spoke into the ear piece once again, “Kenma asked me to call you when he woke up.”

          “When he woke up? Is he okay?” Even as the words were leaving his lips, Kuroo knew the answer was _no_. If Kenma was fine, he would have been the one to call. If Kenma was fine, a text message would have been sent to him, not a phone call from a person who Kuroo didn’t know.

          “Two days ago he overdosed on heroine.”

          _What would you do if I never returned?_

_Would you miss me?_

_Of course I would, but I would cherish every memory we made together._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> raise ur hand if i made u cry a lil bit  
> //raises own hand  
> haha and i leave this with u for a while. until i get better and get back on my feet. maybe? i'll post a chapter in two weeks (maybe not until i finish high school, u never kno)
> 
> edit: I HAVE A TWITTER. IF U WANT TO listen to my crying and tg rants on twitter u should. go follow me. i am 'toorumutsukii' on there as well as on tumblr. sO! have fun stay safe //follow me//


	11. Poet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Obsession it takes control,_   
> _Obsession it eats me whole._   
> _I can't say the words out loud,_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo long time no see! i had this all written but then i rewrote it and gave it to my friend Faye (i call them Ren but w/e) to make sure i didnt fuck up with grammar (the way i USUALLY LOVE TO) 
> 
> in that time a few things happened. i changed my [tumblr url](toorumutsukii.tumblr.com), i got a [twitter](https://twitter.com/toorumutsukii), and Nico made me another [playlist](http://8tracks.com/alphaidiot/dont-go-getting-your-hopes-up)
> 
> also two lovely cosplayers came and told me that they wanted to cosplay from this fic, so there is also that.   
> [this](http://yatos-butt.tumblr.com/post/102478398683/i-based-this-off-of-my-favorite-kuroken-fanfic) is the pic one of them sent me. isnt it adorable uwu
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter? i mean? y eah.

         He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do it. How much longer he could live like this. How much longer he _wanted_ to live. There were very few reasons to stay alive. Kuroo was one of them—the main one. The others were Tsukishima and Hinata—the thought of them crying at his death was enough to bring him to his knees and weep. 

          But, on the other side of the coin it hurt to live. It hurt to breathe, to smile, to laugh. It hurt every time he blinked his eyes open in the morning. He thought about it, buying sleeping pills and overdosing on them. Curling up in Kuroo’s arms and never waking up. Having the last image be Kuroo’s smiling face, the last feeling be damp lips against the crown of his head.   
If he were to do that, Kuroo’s last thought of him would be his cold body the next morning. It was what stopped Kenma from carrying out that plan.   
It hurt living, but it hurt thinking about the people who would be affected if he died.

         Which hurt more?

          Living. Definitely living.

          Under Kenma’s reasons to stay alive, the calm peace of Kuroo’s living room on a cold winter afternoon was one of them. The steady beat of Kuroo’s fingers tapping away on his laptop, the smell of coffee lingering in the air. Kenma’s fingers splayed across the couch fabric, eyes closed but not asleep. 

          If staying alive could get him moments like this with Kuroo, he would do it. And because life did offer him these moments, he continued to live.   
But was it worth it for such small moments of happiness?  
Did these moments of happiness outweigh the sadness Kenma felt on a daily basis?

          No, no it wasn’t enough to outweigh the rest of his pain and anger; it wasn’t enough to get rid of the empty feeling in his chest. But he was with Kuroo, and that was all that mattered. Right?

          He would try anything for Kuroo. 

          And that was terrifying. He would do anything; he would attempt anything just to see that pleased smile on Kuroo’s face, to see his dark brown eyes light up with glee. Was that a toxic thought? Was Kenma too dependent on Kuroo?

          “What would you do…” his voice shatters the calm silence, “…if I told you I wanted to move out?” He had thought about it, asked Tsukishima to look at apartments he could check out. It wasn’t random, but it also was something Kenma didn’t want to do. 

          But being dependent on someone was something he didn’t like. It was too…clingy. He lived without Kuroo before, and he could do it again. Mooching off Kuroo’s kindness was not something Kenma wanted to do. 

          Kuroo’s typing slows down at his question, but the fingers continue their rhythmic tapping. 

          What kind of answer did he want from Kuroo? A part of him wanted Kuroo to be possessive. To hold him here. To give him no options besides staying with him. But, he was sure that wouldn’t happen. Kuroo wasn’t like that. Kuroo never put himself first. Kenma was always first to Kuroo—Kenma knew that. And it wasn’t like he in turn tried to put Kuroo first. When they were younger, he took all of Kuroo’s free time, all of his love, all of his energy, and hoarded it for himself. 

          Selfish, but considering the circumstances, Kenma would have died long ago if it weren’t for Kuroo’s selflessness when it came to Kenma.   
Now though, he should be more mature. Healthier, mentally at least. But he still fell into a pattern of just taking and not giving. He hated it but he couldn’t stop. 

         Maybe he did need to get away.

          “I’d let you go.” Of course. It was simple for Kuroo. Kuroo loved Kenma—if those kisses meant anything (kisses that set his skin on fire with an equal mix of absolute fear and the absolute need for more)—so it wasn’t difficult for him. ‘if Kenma wants to leave, I would let him’ is Kuroo’s mindset. Always giving until Kenma doesn’t want to take.

          How is Kuroo so strong? If Kenma keeps taking all his love and strength and time, how is he not the one that is strong? 

          Is he really that weak? Does Kuroo deserve such a weak person?

          Kenma swallows a few times, mainly because the first attempt ended with it getting stuck in his throat. “…what if I didn’t come back?”

          As soon as the words leave his mouth, Kenma wants to take them back. 

          Regret. 

          He wants to take the place of Kuroo’s laptop, to straddle his lap and lick into Kuroo’s mouth, wiping away all traces of the words that Kuroo is going to say to him. He wants those hands to grip his hips with a desperate sort of affection. He wants Kuroo to hold him tight, to whisper promises into his skin, trace his nails along the curves of Kenma’s body. 

          He wants Kuroo to use him like Kenma uses Kuroo. 

          He wants Kuroo to _devour_ him. 

          It won’t happen though. Kuroo wouldn’t do that. Kuroo is gentle touches and loving kisses and safety

          His assumptions are proven correct when Kuroo reaches down and threads his fingers through Kenma’s hair, “I would miss you.” Make me stay, “but I don’t own you. Someday, you might come back to me.”

_I won’t_

_I can’t._

          The thoughts hit Kenma hard, making him shift his eyes to the ceiling and blink.

_Oh_. 

          He doesn’t want to think about it, but his brain has other ideas.

          If Kenma left, Kuroo wouldn’t be his safety net. He would walk the tightrope alone (occasionally Tsukishima would call out to him from the safer side telling him to come back, but Kenma is too far gone). 

          If Kenma left, he would be all alone. There would be no one to stop him from taking drugs, no one to fear if he left his stuff in the living room.   
There would be no one to curl up to at night, no one to cook for him. 

          He’s too dependent. 

          If he left, Kenma wasn’t coming back. 

          “But—” He started, words stuck in his throat. He felt like crying. 

          “What would I do if you didn’t?” Kenma nods and takes a deep breath. Stay calm. He has to stay calm. “Then I’ll treasure every memory I have of you forever.”       

          Kenma nods again, eyes damp as he closes them. A smile graces his face, and he is overcome with thoughts of Kuroo with his friends—faceless because Kenma never met them—happy and joking about things Kenma will never understand. 

          Kuroo had a life after Kenma left all those years ago. Made himself a name, got famous, rich. He got friends, friends who likely know more about him then Kenma currently does. 

          He is clinging to the ghost of his best friend. Of a love they could have had if Kenma hadn’t left. If Kenma hadn’t been… _no_ if Kenma had been stronger.

          He is worth nothing to Kuroo. Not in the long run. Kuroo had lasted 12 years without him and been okay. 

          If Kenma were to leave now, the impact of two years he had on Kuroo’s life would one day mean nothing. 

          He would be a fading memory. 

          Surprisingly he was okay with that. Ok with Kuroo moving on with his life, smiling with his friends, and thinking nothing of the boy from so long ago. He feels at peace with the fact that by not seeing Kuroo, he can positively impact his life.

          It’s time to let go.

* * *

 

          Tsukishima helps him move out. It’s a nice place, in a fairly good neighborhood. No drug dealers live in the area (which is nice for Kenma because then they don’t know him) and the crime rate is low. It’s a perfect place. Not far from the café, not far from the club. It’s a bit of a walk—or a short bus ride—to Kuroo’s house, but he wanted that. 

          He wanted to get away. 

          He doesn’t cry when he leaves Kuroo’s house for the last time, there isn’t a need. Kenma isn’t sure if this is going to be the last time, and he wants Kuroo to see him happy, excited. 

          He wishes he kissed Kuroo goodbye. 

          When the door closes behind him, a part of him shatters. It isn’t until later, alone in his empty apartment, that Kenma cries. 

* * *

 

          It ends up not being the last time Kenma sees Kuroo, which is nice for both of them, but Kenma feels a sense of pressure each time he sees Kuroo. 

          How long will he drag this out? How long will he pretend that he is okay? 

          He tries texting to him, just to keep the edge off of missing him. It’s dumb things, like how the television didn’t work the way he wanted it to, or that he dropped another mug because he saw a spider. Silly things. Things to make Kuroo think he was okay.

          It gets worse as the weeks go on. It’s like a part of him is missing. 

          Was he that dependent on Kuroo’s strength?

          There is no one stopping him from injecting more than twice a day, the thought of Kuroo walking in on him isn’t a fear that has settled in Kenma’s bones. 

          He can do whatever he wants. Just like he used to. 

          On the days he is a little clearer headed, he realizes what is happening.

          He is relapsing. 

          To be honest, he never really stopped doing drugs when Kuroo was around. He was just careful, and let himself feel the withdrawals of the drug before he used it again. He was healthier, eating better food, had better clothes. But now, away from Kuroo. He can do as he wants like he used to. He can shoot up as many times a day as he wants, when he wants, where he wants, and how he wants. He has more time for his clients—a fact they are thrilled about—since he doesn’t need several hours of hanging out with Kuroo. 

          He makes money. Which he spends on drugs (and food, but mostly drugs).

          He is definitely relapsing. 

* * *

 

           As much as Kenma works, even he knows that working without stopping is a surefire way to get sick and be unhappy. Even Kenma takes weekends off. 

           He had requested the weekend a few weeks ago, and when Hinata had found out, he demanded that he be given the same weekend off as well (beating Tsukishima to the punch which the blond hated but said nothing about) so he could hang out with Kenma. 

           And now that Kenma was settled into his new apartment—complete with a coffee maker Kuroo bought him and a ratty couch from the second-hand thrift shop, Hinata made himself at home. 

           “Do you have any food?” the ginger boy announced loudly from the living room. The volume was not necessary as Kenma was only about fifty steps away in the kitchen, “I’m absolutely starving.”

           “Hinata…we ate just over an hour ago?” Kenma leaned on the counter, sipping at his coffee—a mug he stole from Kuroo—a soft smile on his lips, “please wait until dinner time.”

           “But Kenma,” gold eyes watched as Hinata flopped all over the couch, high pitched whines making their way to his eyes, “I’m going to die before dinner.”

           “I’m fairly positive that you can make it another four hours.” The overly dramatic sob he hears from the other side of the apartment makes him grin into his coffee, and with a little shake of his head, Kenma curls his fingers around his precious mug and makes his way to the couch, “how about this, if in two hours you are still hungry I’ll make you something to eat.” 

           Hinata shifts around and makes space for Kenma on the couch, giving a little snort, “I’m not sure how you lived as long as you did without killing yourself, but you really can’t cook. We need to go out, like get outside food man. You deserve it. Hell, I’ll pay! Think of it as your house warming gift!”

           Kenma just gives the okay because he would rather just lose the battle then be dragged into an hour-long conversation about his sub-par cooking skills.

           “So…what’s up with you? Anything new with Kageyama?”

           Kenma had opened a can of worms that he later would realize—after he is settled into bed exhausted from his day with Hinata—was a horrible idea.

* * *

 

           “Okay so get this, I still haven’t told him where I work,” Hinata laughs as Kenma just gives him a look while drinking his coffee, “don’t look at me, I mean? I did tell him that I was a public service worker…so that counts right?”

           “Your public service is shaking your ass to get money.” Kenma deadpans from behind his mug, “His version of public service is probably like the trash man or a janitor.”

           Hinata just gives a long-suffering sigh. For some reason, Kenma feels no sympathy toward him. 

           “What if he freaks out on me? And wants me to quit? I love dancing so so much, Kenma. I can’t just quit.” 

           He only nods, knowing the feeling of being addicted to the music. The beat in his chest, the fluid movements of his limbs on the pole. It’s magical to him, and it’s breathtaking to the audience. It gets him cash, and it makes him feel good for a while. 

           He saw no reason to stop dancing.

           “So besides the lie that you are feeding to your boyfriend of…six months now?”

           “Almost eight actually,” Hinata corrects with a sheepish smile 

          “Beside the lie that you have been feeding your boyfriend of almost a year now, how have you guys been doing?” Kenma only raises an eyebrow at Hinata’s puffed out cheeks, as if daring him to say that he isn’t outright lying to Kageyama.

          When Kenma goes to bed that night, there is a smile on his lips.

          Maybe living wasn’t that hard after all. 

* * *

 

          Except that…living really is hard. 

          Day after day, it takes more and more to get him to feel ‘normal’. On clearer days he knows it’s the drugs. He knows exactly what is happening to him. That he should get help. That he should tell someone. 

          He should tell Kuroo. 

_I thought you let go?_

          He doesn’t tell Kuroo.

          But it gets worse. Two doses, three doses, five doses a day just to keep him sane. To keep the aching at bay, the vomiting the indescribable pain in his bones from eating at him. The ants come back to haunt him, to nip at his skin. Regardless of how many times a day he gives himself his medication—because even though he was addicted, it was what kept him sane—Kenma can still feel the ants on his skin. 

          A better way to describe it is the constant feeling of someone touching him. 

          But he doesn’t want the hands there.

          He can still feel his touch after so many years.

          After a hard day at work—a double shift that leaves him bone tired—Kenma collapses on his couch, fingers shakily readying his nightly dose. 

          A night dose that used to last him a solid three days.

          Living is really hard.

          As Kenma slides the needle up into his vein, his breath shudders, shoulders sagging as if he can relax. His medication was with him; he had no need to worry about side effects gripping him tight in the middle of his job. 

          It’s only when the itching on his skin gets worse, when Kenma wakes up in a cold sweat, and there is no Kuroo to curl up next to does Kenma realize. 

          He can’t live like this. 

* * *

 

          There is no planning involved. It’s a simple thought ‘I don’t want to live anymore’ that runs through his mind one morning. There is no shocking revelation about it, no need for Kenma to sit down and sort out his thoughts.

          It doesn’t surprise him, as surprising as the thought is at eight o’clock in the morning. Nothing changes about the rest of his day; he still goes to work, earns money and makes microwaved meals when he gets home.

          He still takes his medication five times a day, just to make sure that he doesn’t have any side effects while going throughout his daily routine. 

          Kenma doesn’t act on his thoughts until a few nights later. He doesn’t have work the next night, and there are no clients booked for the next couple of days. 

          In hindsight, it was the perfect day; he had just paid his bills. No one would be looking for him, all it would take for Kuroo to not be suspicious would be a text message from Kenma that he was going with a client. It wasn’t like Kuroo had Hinata’s or Tsukishima’s numbers to cross reference Kenma’s schedule. 

          Kuroo had his own life. Soon Kenma wouldn’t be a part of it.

          Nothing special happens that day. He doesn’t see Kuroo and give him a long, lingering kiss—though he wants to. He tells Tsukishima he would see him the next time they were at work and tells Hinata to tell Kageyama about his job for likely the tenth time that night. It’s a normal day, filled with little laughs and half-there smiles. 

          Like always. 

          But he knew. He knew this is the last day. 

          And because of that, though nothing really changes, Kenma makes sure he is a little nicer that day. 

          Because really, this will be everyone’s last image of him. 

          Hopefully, the next time they saw him—and truly he hopes they didn’t see him dead—he would be partway decomposed. 

          Kenma didn’t want people to find his body. He didn’t want Tsukishima or Hinata or Kuroo or Aone or anyone to see him. He would rather ruin some unknown person’s life stumbling on his body than have his friend’s last picture in their mind be Kenma’s cold dead body. 

_From: Kuroo_

_how r u recently? It’s been a while_

          Kenma’s fingers hover over the keyboard, wanting to type ‘I’m fine just tired’. It wouldn’t be a lie. He was tired. But Kuroo would think like tired as in he wanted to sleep. 

          And that he wanted to wake up. 

          Kenma wouldn’t be lying, but the thought of not telling Kuroo the whole truth made his stomach churn. 

          He was just so fucking weak. 

          So he just doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to think about Kuroo. About his smile versus his smirk. The soft kisses that he placed on Kenma’s cheeks, nose…lips.

          He doesn’t want to think about how Kuroo is going to feel. It makes him feel worse. 

_If I die now, then in a few years, I’ll be a fading memory._

_He will be better off without me. It will be okay._

          Kenma’s hands shake as he readies his doses, the last ones he will ever take. 

          The first one doesn’t make him feel much, just like he normally does. His hands stop shaking; his breathing gets a little bit easier.

          The second dose doesn’t hurt. Since the first medication dose is doing its job, Kenma doesn’t feel the pain of the needle sliding into his arm. He watches it though, like he always does.

          The thin metal gliding over his skin before disappearing into his vein. The feeling of something being in his skin that shouldn’t be; the slight pressure that builds up in his arm momentarily as Kenma pushes the plunger down on the syringe. 

          It’s the third dose that does him in. He can’t feel anything. He can’t feel the fabric of his jeans, nor the syringe in his hands. He still watches the metal slide into his skin, though he misses his vein the first time. 

          Even with no feeling, Kenma knows the difference of pressure between his veins and places that aren’t his veins. Several years of injecting stuff into his arm, and several failed times of not getting it in (and the excruciating pain it caused) taught him that. 

          His body goes heavy after the third dose—his last dose ever. He thinks about texting Kuroo, about telling him that he loved him that he would do anything for him. 

          That this was going to be for the better, in the long run at least.

          Kenma was the lowest of the low. Addicted to drugs, a sex worker, and a prostitute. He was paid to let people fuck him, paid to let people catcall at him on stage. 

          The ants under his skin ate away at him, day in and day out, the never ending feeling of being dirty no matter how many times he scrubbed his skin raw; no matter how many times he scrubbed until he bled. 

          Kuroo was his antidote, but Kuroo wasn’t a medication. Kuroo couldn’t fix him. No one could fix him. 

          Kenma was all sorts of fucked up. He was lost, but he was so far gone that he was never going to be able to find his way out. Even if Kuroo had offered to help him out, to give him a better life, Kenma wasn’t sure if he could do it. He was so used to it. Living in the dark. Pasting a smile on his face and moaning as his clients were too rough, didn’t please him, left marks when they shouldn’t have.

          If Kuroo had brought him to the light, Kenma surely would have shriveled up and died. Kuroo was the light in his dark light, as ironic as that was. 

          Kenma was nothing without him, but if Kuroo didn’t have Kenma he was still someone. He still had something going for him. 

          Kuroo was the antidote that Kenma couldn’t afford to use up.

          So instead, he just let go. 

          It was time anyway. 

_You aren’t worth his time_

_If you died, he would get over it._

_You are nothing._

_Just let go before you fuck something else up._

* * *

 

_I’m sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT REALLY SURE WHEN I CAN WRITE AGAIN  
> B/C I HAVE NOTHING WRITTEN AND I HAVE TO FINISH LIKE? 4 CLASSES IN A MONTH  
> SO???? also i have to write for my hq secret santa person which will be fun and i need time to do that  
> but after this fic is done (which will be a while be planning ahead like a good little girl)   
> i will be likely writing a narnia/golden compass au for hq. which paring?? w ell hinata will be 'lyra' and kageyama will be 'will' but narnia is part of this too and literally the time i will be world-building is gonna be a lOT so.   
> i will likely see u come winter break!


	12. The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You are second-hand smoke_   
>  _You are so fragile and thin, standing trial for your sins_   
>  _Holding on to yourself the best you can_   
>  _You are the smell before rain_   
>  _You are the blood in my veins_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY EARLY CHRISTMAS/HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL YALL  
> i suffered through two migraines writing this and bone aching tiredness from work, so any mistakes that r here im REALLY sorry for. if u want, u can always ALWAYS tell me where they r and i will go and fix them, alright? 
> 
> enjoy this kinda cute chapter. kinda cute.

          “What do you _mean_ he overdosed?” Kuroo was pacing the living room, eyes glancing from the oven clock to the still darkness outside his window, to the front to.

          _Two days ago_

          He was supposed to be leaving now, he was supposed to be going to Yaku’s for Christmas dinner. He was going to be late, even if he left _right now_. Why had this Tsukishima person not called him yesterday? Or when Kenma actually had overdosed?

          “Is he okay? Is he dead? He’s not dead, is he? I mean, you would have called me earlier to tell me that? Or would you have known?”

          _Overdosed on heroin_

          He was scared—was Kenma okay? But he was angry too. Why couldn’t Kenma have done this earlier in the month? When Kuroo had time to freak out. It was holiday season, it was _Christmas_. He had things, he had rituals that he hated to break. Why, _why_ now?

          _What would you do if I never returned?_

          Maybe that was why he didn’t reply to his text message the other day. _Oh god_.

          _I would miss you_

_I miss you_

_Don’t leave me_

          “I _mean_ ,” Tsukishima’s voice cut in again, and maybe he had been talking all along, but Kuroo really—honestly—had not been paying attention, “he overdosed on heroin.” What a snarky kid, Kuroo thought with a sneer. He dialed it back though, because this was likely the same person who _found_ Kenma.

          They all went through the grieving process differently.

          “He’s alright, to answer your other question,” Kuroo was sure the relief that flooded him was not only tangible, but someone heard over the telephone because Tsukishima let out a dry chuckle afterwards, “However, he’s beginning to suffer from withdrawls…”

          “So if I want to see him, I should come soon?”

          “Exactly.”

          _What would you do if I died?_

_I would weep for you_

* * *

          He should have noticed sooner. The signs that Kenma was going to kill himself. Or at least attempt. Kuroo sat back in the semi-plush hospital chair in Kenma’s room, his hands wrapped around Kenma’s ice cold fingers. But even when he dissects their conversations—what was left unsaid—he can’t find anything. Just unspoken words of affection, things they couldn’t say out loud because

          Because it would have been easier if Kenma ever left again.

          Kuroo sighs, a soft sound that barely makes a dent in the dead silence of the room. Tsukishima had looked tired upon Kuroo’s arrival, and he had managed to convince the boy—another stripper based on some assumptions—to go home and rest. They exchanged phone numbers so that if anything happened while Kuroo was with Kenma, he could at least send a text message to the blond haired boy.

          Now, Kenma was sleeping. Had been sleeping for a few hours according to his nurse. Kuroo didn’t like him like this—hooked up to IVs and lifeless looking. There were bags under his eyes, darker than they were when he left Kuroo’s house. He looked malnutritioned, as if he was _planning_ this suicide attempt, planning to die, planning to leave Kuroo all alone.

          “Why would you leave me? What would I do without you?” he whispered, mindful that Kenma hadn’t been sleeping well before this, “What makes you think I would _want_ this?” Another sigh parted his lips and Kuroo bowed his head to rest them on the backs of his hands, “I need you.”

* * *

          He fell asleep like that, only waking up when he felt Kenma’s hand slide out from his. Blinking his eyes open, Kuroo raised his head and stared at the golden eyes that were lethargically staring back at him.

          “ _Kenma_ ,” he breathed, surging out of his seat to wrap the younger boy in a tight hug, “Kenma you _scared me_. Please don’t do that ever again.” He felt the boy nod once, felt those arms come up and fist the fabric of his jacket, “I wouldn’t…I couldn’t have…” Kuroo tried to find the words to explain how much Kenma meant to him, but unlike when he was asleep, the words didn’t come easy, “I need you,” he said again—this time to a conscious Kenma, “I need you, don’t leave me.”

          Kuroo felt Kenma nod against his shoulder, felt the boy clench his jacket just a little tighter for a brief moment before releasing the abused fabric and pushing at Kuroo’s shoulders, “I’m sorry,” he rasped out, and Kuroo just shook his head because, no, _he_ was sorry. Sorry he couldn’t help beforehand, sorry he didn’t try hard enough, sorry that he noticed but brushed it off because his personal health was more important than dealing with the fact that…

          That Kenma had been slowly shattering before his eyes.

          And Kuroo didn’t do anything to stop it.

          “ _I’m sorry_ ,” the rough whisper came again, followed by a cough but Kuroo couldn’t find the strength in his legs to move and get Kenma water, “I didn’t mean to make you worry.” Kuroo would have believed him, would have wiped those tears off those rosy red cheeks and kissed him better—if it wasn’t for the fact that Kenma’s fingers were inching to his IV.

          “You didn’t mean to make me worry because if you succeeded, you would have been _dead_.” He bit out, grabbing Kenma’s hand with more force than really was necessary. It didn’t help that the blond flinched hard enough to shake his bed, those golden eyes snapping up to meet his.

          “Of course,” Well at least he didn’t deny it, “I don’t want to be here, Kuroo,” his lips parted as if to say more, but another cough stopped him and this time Kuroo was able to find the will to move.

          With a final squeeze on Kenma’s fingers, Kuroo made his way to the counter and pitcher of water with a small stack of mini plastic cups. He filled one just a little bit over half-way and padded back to Kenma’s bedside, watching as the blond boy drank it all.

          “Feel better?” At Kenma’s slow nod, Kuroo gave a sort of smile—because really happiness was the last thing he was feeling at the moment—and after scooting the chair next to Kenma’s bed even closer, Kuroo sank back into the _kinda_ plush seat and took one of Kenma’s hands in his once more, “I’m relieved,” he stated after a few moments of silence, “that you didn’t die.” Kenma’s lips parted to speak, but Kuroo beat him to it, “I know you don’t want to be here, but I want to help. I want you to _want_ to be here, do you want that too?”

          There were tears spilling from Kenma’s eyes again, but like before Kuroo just let them fall. It would do the boy good, and Kuroo had to learn to not coddle the blond boy before something like this repeated itself. They both had to realize that while they worked so _perfectly_ together, they had flaws. Kenma relied too much on Kuroo and in turn Kuroo honestly believed that Kenma was what made his world so much brighter.

          They had to fix that, or at least work on it.

          “Yeah,” Kenma warbled, his hand clenching around Kuroo’s in a weak but firm grip, “yeah, I want that too.” He looked like he was about to say more, but Kuroo could only hold out on not comforting the boy for _so long_ , so at those words, he let himself give in, using his other hand to thumb away some tears. With a gentle sort of smile, he leaned across the guardrails on the bed—ignoring the painful digging in his side—and pressed his lips against Kenma’s.

          “Good,” he muttered with a sense of finality, grinning when he saw the shadow of a smile on Kenma’s lips. He closed the space between their faces again, and connected their lips once more, letting the blond let go of his hand so that he could card his thin fingers through Kuroo’s mess of hair.

          When Kenma let his hand fall from Kuroo’s hair, Kuroo pulled away and took a glance at the clock.

          12:05am

          He snorted and quickly pecked at the tip of Kenma’s nose, a bemused look in his eyes, “What?” Kenma questioned, his nose wrinkled up from the fact that it was just kissed.

          _A shy nose_ Kuroo thought, then realized that was a really _weird_ thought and decided he needed to get more sleep, “Nothing,” he replied, “Just…merry belated Christmas, Kenma.”

          A shocked look crossed the blond’s face before he gave a short little giggle, “Merry belated Christmas, Kuroo.”

          Kuroo didn’t comment on how that was the first time Kenma had said his name without being emotionally unstable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCK YEAH HE'S NOT DEAD I TOLD YALL HE WASNT GONNA DIE. but yall kept asking and i was like 'well i COULD kill him and then i could kill kuroo and tbh it would go much quicker if i did it that way haha' but i didnt b/c i think u all would have killed me or smth
> 
> the suffering isnt over? but they r on the road to recovery. the last hurdle they have is kenma's addiction and his past, which will of course be covered. tbh that wasnt really the 'climax' but it was the 'oh shit j almost killed a character haha no wait she didnt nvm' and there wont be another scare like that? i promise. just angst suffering and a backstory im super excited to write about
> 
> and more side characters b/c kenma HAS to meet them. good god think what would happen if all of them got together. tsuki and kages finally meeting. holy shit. still my crazily beating heart. 
> 
> oh as for when i can write again. the answer is idk. xmas is in two days, i havent gotten my mom gifts (shit), i work today and twm and xmas im doing shit and then i work the day after and then i go camping from saturday to late sunday. so i can write maybe on monday but i work on tuesday? so. maybe u MIGHT get a chapter before i go back to school, but if u dont i'm REALLY SORRY


	13. To See You Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When you stepped into the light_   
>  _Saw it running down your thighs_   
>  _And thought what a beautiful sight_   
>  _To see you alive_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im very sorry??? this is crappy and full of mistakes and covers like barely a day tbh (well like two weeks but idk imo its a day pff)

          The day after Christmas, Kuroo had to go to work. _Of course_. It always had to work out like that. They hit a breakthrough, a milestone (in Kuroo’s mind this was Kenma simply saying his _name_ ) and then work had to go and fuck it up and somehow—just somehow—it managed to fuck everything up. He didn’t understand it and he questioned it each and every time it happened, but Kuroo had a theory that when he had to work after having a nice and tender moment with Kenma, it ended up putting them three paces back.

          Two steps forward, three steps back. Progress was slow.

          It was as if saying his name was a fluke, a mistake, a simple slip of the tongue. Kenma hadn’t said it since. Not in the late hours of the night when Kuroo snuck in (with the help of some nurses now and then, they felt sorry for him) and held his hands. Not when Kuroo slept on that way too small hospital bed, running his fingers through Kenma’s hair. Not even in his sleep.

          It was as if Kenma was scared to say it. Scared that something would happen if he did. That Kuroo would disappear, that Kenma would lose everything he worked so hard for.

          What was scaring Kenma?

          In all honesty, it was just another question to add to Kuroo’s list of Questions He Has About Kenma’s State of Mind (copyrighted by him).

          Kenma was in the hospital for two weeks. Two weeks of Kuroo swinging by when he could—morning, afternoon, on his lunch break, middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. Kenma would smile at him some days and kiss his cheek and talk about things the nurse told him and Kuroo would talk to the nurses about how he was doing before settling in the much comfier chair (one of the very nice doctors brought it in after seeing how much he had been there, stating that he didn’t need another patient because Kuroo fucked up his back) and typing away at his laptop.

          Then there were days when Kuroo walked in with a cup of coffee and a grin and would share the drink with Kenma (just a little bit, but if the blond snuck in a few more sips that Kuroo said he could have, Kuroo said nothing) and cuddle with him on the small bed. Some of those days they managed to get Kenma outside for a little bit, even if he was confined to a wheelchair and a portable IV cable.

          But with the great days, came the horrible days, and Kuroo knew that as much as he would like to hightail it out of there when Kenma was crying and screaming and _wishing he wasn’t on this planet_ , Kuroo stuck it out until the blond was calm and asleep and okay with Kuroo leaving.

          Those days Kuroo could sense would be bad. He would walk into the room with his usual soft smile, but when Kenma just stared blankly at him, Kuroo would know in that moment. It always started with questions; why was Kuroo here? Why was Kuroo _still_ here?

          He never knew how to answer those. ‘I love you too much to let you go’ seemed to be a bit too heavy of an answer Kenma’s question, but ‘I don’t know’ didn’t seem like the right way to go. _I care for you_ often did the trick, but follow up questions were almost always a definite thing.

          _Why haven’t you left me? Why do you want me here? Why am I here? I don’t belong here. You would be so much better without me. Why didn’t you let me die? I don’t want to be here, why didn’t I die?_

          Kuroo knew that it wasn’t Kenma talking. Except that he knew that it _was_. He had learned that the Kenma he remembered and the Kenma that was here _right now_ were two different things. He knew that _his_ Kenma—the boy who kissed his cheeks and pecked at his lips and gave little smiles—was only a part of Kenma. And this, this nasty self-loathing boy that would sometimes replace his little angel, well that was Kenma too. And to say it didn’t break Kuroo’s heart would be a lie. He wanted nothing more than to coddle the blond, to shield him from the world, to tell him lies that he would be okay forever and Kuroo would never leave him _ever_ and nothing would harm him.

          But he never said those things.

* * *

          On New Years Eve, Kuroo once again found himself breaking from his tradition of being with his friends to be with Kenma. His…something. They were something, he knew they were something but to call them boyfriends seemed to be too  _much_ , however just saying they were friends wasn’t enough.

          Crutch.

          They were each other’s crutch. Whether that was in a good way or not had yet to be determined, but Kuroo hoped that whatever they were, it didn’t end up in flames.

          “You should go be with Yaku and Lev,” Kenma muttered against his lips a few hours after Kuroo had arrived, “I bet they miss you.”

          “Not as much as you would miss me if I left,” Kuroo teased back, pulling away from Kenma to peck a kiss on the tip of his nose, “besides, I did offer to the group to come visit if they felt the need. I think that they want to give us some space though.”

          “But we’re always together, nothing is different about today?” Kenma scrunched up his nose—more out of habit than out of dislike for the attention given to it—and shifted his golden gaze to the dark outside, “Just the end of the year, I guess. They could visit.”

          “I’m going to assume that Akaashi doesn’t want all of them to crowd you. He understands that you don’t really _enjoy_ large crowds.” Kuroo shuffled around on the bed, grumbling when the rail dug into his side. He couldn’t wait until Kenma got out of here.

          “I’m a stripper for a living, I might not like crowds, but I know how to handle them at least.” Kenma snorted with a hint of distain and Kuroo had to smother laughter behind his hand. Realizing he might have nudged at a sore spot, Kuroo turned his head to nuzzle the soft skin of Kenma’s neck, letting his breath fan out against the warm flesh.

          “Sorry, sorry. You know how Akaashi gets though.”

          Kenma huffed and raised his hand to push Kuroo away, but before Kuroo could say anything else, connected their lips together in a chaste kiss. When they parted, Kenma’s cheeks had a pink hue to them, and his eyes slid away from Kuroo’s intense gaze and fixated on their interlocked fingers, “Not really…no,” Kenma said after a while, “but I know how _you_ get. So thank you. I guess.”

          Kuroo just smiled and rolled over onto Kenma, laughing when the blond squawked that he was too heavy and was smushing him.

          As if.

          Although they didn’t turn on the television to watch the New Year’s Countdown like Kuroo did every year, they knew that the New Year had hit when Kuroo could hear the faint _10…9…8_ from the room next to Kenma’s. Careful not to rouse the sleeping boy beside him, Kuroo pressed a gentle kiss to Kenma’s lips as the fireworks exploded in the city, their echoes mingling with the quiet cheering of people from the hospital building and maybe even from around the city.

          Golden eyes blinked open as Kuroo pulled his lips away, and a lazy smile pulled at Kenma’s lips. Raising his arms, he looped them loosely around Kuroo’s neck and tugged him back down; a sleepy _Happy New Year’s_ mumbled between wet lips and soft sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so when will i have time to write again? u see thats a good question. u can pester me on tumblr about it (with varying degrees of success tbh) or u can TRY twitter (also varying degrees???) and tbh nothing really works until im like I SHOULD WRITE YEAH and on top of that feeling i CAN write. 
> 
> often i'm consumed by the need to work on my Narnia HQ au (dude fucking ask me about that or dont b/c im so up in the air with plot rn hnn) 
> 
> but im taking 11 college credits rn, but i'm trying to actually maybe get ahead in this writing and finish this fic before i go to training for the military for 9 weeks. like? im sure u guys dont want to wait 9-12 weeks for a chapter. so??? hnnn


	14. Small Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Miss your teeth dug in my shoulder,_   
> _As we rolled in early morning,_   
> _Miss your arm dying beneath me,_   
> _As I lay there, simply yawning_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i love you so much u get another chapter. this was supposed to be TWO chapters but i was like 'eh w/e they could use a 2k chapter' so there u go. enjoy it? it's shitty and u can tell when i just g ave up. (its like in the middle u just see and and go 'oh yeah thats where she said fuck it all'

          During the couple of weeks in which Kenma has been back at Kuroo’s house ( _home_ , Kenma called it _home_ ), the two of them had done nothing except cuddle and kiss each other and drank insane amounts of coffee.

          It was nice. It was peaceful. It was like Kenma never tried to kill himself, though Kuroo knew that he couldn’t fool himself into thinking that one never happened. Still…still he blamed himself. He had turned a blind eye to the problem, wanting to keep Kenma close and happy instead of picking a fight they _probably_ should have had. Maybe then he would have been able to keep Kenma _safe_.

          From drugs. From himself.

          But Kuroo didn’t let those thoughts get him down. Much. They plagued him day and night, but he pushed them into the back of his mind. He knew he fucked up. He knew he was in the wrong. Likely a lot of people knew Kenma had this drug problem—his coworkers had to have noticed—so he was placated by the fact that at least other people were upset about the fact that _they also did nothing to help_.

          Kenma was happier though. Tired more, and a little grumpy on some days when the need was a little too strong. But they combated the urges together. Sometimes with kissing. Other times with movies. A few times, Kuroo had read some of the work he had on his laptop. More often than not, Kenma would just drink three or four cups of coffee—black—to push the urges away. Kuroo saw nothing wrong with that, but he did warn Kenma that caffeine addiction _was_ a thing and he needed to maybe cut it back to two cups max at a time.

          Kenma didn’t call him out on the fact that Kuroo went through about seven cups of coffee a _day_ , and for that the raven was relived.

* * *

 

          “Kenma,” Kuroo said from the couch one day. His golden little angel tilted his head back and frowned, a cup of steaming coffee cradled in his hands, “have you thought of going to rehab?”

          Those golden eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, and in that time Kuroo braced himself for sharp words that would _definitely_ lead to a fight.

          “…no. I don’t particularly want to go,” shifting around, Kenma got up on the couch and sat criss-crossed in front of Kuroo, “do you think I should go?” his fingers tightened around his coffee and Kuroo heard the unasked question lingering in the air.

_Do you want to get rid of me?_

          With that in mind, Kuroo picked his words and actions carefully, starting with closing his laptop and gently pulling Kenma into his lap. The blond came without resistance and allowed Kuroo to press a light kiss against his temple.

          “…do you think it would be good for me?” Kenma asked a frown on his face.

          Kuroo nodded as he sighed, a mirroring frown on his own face, “Actually, I think it would be great. I know you still have urges; not _you_ but your body still craves it, still thinks that it needs it. I thinking having some professionals help you out for a bit would be good.”

          “They could teach me how to cope…couldn’t they?” Kenma’s fingers tightened around his mug again, and Kuroo resisted the urge to kiss each and every tense muscle in the blond’s body.

          “…yeah. Yeah, they really could.”

          When Kenma smiled at him, it broke Kuroo’s heart but warmed it all the same. _I trust you_ it said between the cracked exterior.

          _I trust you to not leave while I fix myself. I trust you to keep helping me. I trust you to not break me anymore._

          And when Kuroo leaned forward to pepper kisses all over Kenma’s face before giving a grin of his own, he knew that no matter how long it took, he would wait for Kenma to be ready.

          Ready for what, he wasn’t exactly sure. For them to continue in this relationship? To tell him about his past? To say his name?

          It didn’t matter. Kuroo would wait.

* * *

 

          Kuroo sits back in the café, sipping on a triple shot chai and drumming his fingers against the side of his laptop, a small smile on his face.

          “—Like I can’t _believe_ him. Why did he even think that I would have issues with that?” Kageyama slammed down a ceramic mug rather harshly on the counter and Kuroo thought that it was a miracle the object didn’t shatter in Kageyama’s hands, “Do I give the impression of being an over-bearing asshole?” Navy blue eyes flew to stare at Kuroo, a mix of anger and disbelief.

          “Considering what Hinata _is_ , I’m not surprised he was scared to tell you.” Kuroo said slowly, halting the sound his fingers, “I think he was just worried that you would react in anger. Like you usually do when you don’t know how to express yourself.” He smiled—pleased—at Kageyama’s answering frown, “It’s your flaw, Kageyams. You are horrible with words.”

          The younger raven sighed heavily through his nose and his shoulders slumped. For a moment he didn’t move and then his hands flew up so he could bury his face in them, “Fuck,” he groaned. It was loud enough for Kuroo to hear—likely loud enough for some of the other customers to hear as well—but he didn’t say anything. When Kageyama dragged his hands down his face, pulling the skin with it, Kuroo had to smother down a chuckle.

          He knew the boy was rather torn up about the fact that he had over-reacted about his boyfriend of a _year_ had just confessed to being a stripper for his job—Kuroo had pretended to know nothing about it, though Kenma had confided his annoyance about the matter before he had left—and knew that laughing at the theatrics that Kageyama unknowingly put on wasn’t going to help his barista’s problem.

          “You should talk to him.” a sip of his tea.

          “He hates me, I know it,” a stretch of silence filled only by Kageyama loudly putting mugs away. Less silence and more unnecessary noise so Kuroo wouldn’t talk for a while.

          Kuroo left Kageyama to his thoughts for a while, his fingers now rhythmically tapping against his keyboard, eyes glancing at the blank Word document before letting his gaze travel elsewhere in the room.

          It hadn’t even been a full week and he already missed Kenma.

          “He loves you, you know,” Kuroo broke the silence, stealing a glance at Kageyama wiping down the coffee machines _again_ , “Hinata wouldn’t have told you otherwise.”

          “And I fucked it up,” Kageyama grumbled back at him, body tense with emotions he didn’t know how to express.

          “Well, to be honest,” Kuroo ignored Kageyams little jab about _when are you not_ , “I’m sure Hinata is angry at you for snapping at him the way you did. But I’m also sure that he is more hurt that you don’t love him anymore.”

          Kuroo had never seen Kageyama’s eyes flash to anger that quickly in the several years he had known the younger boy, “Why would he think that! Of course I love him!”

          “Oh? And yelling at him for being a money-grabbing slut was the best way to go about that?” Kuroo raised an eyebrow as he took another sip from his chai—cooling quicker than he would have liked he was going to have to chug the thing soon—his gaze locked on his friend.

          Kageyama spluttered, a flush rising up his neck, “I was _shocked_ , I didn’t _mean_ it, I swear.”

          “There are only three times when people tell the complete and honest truth,” Kuroo lowered his mug and fixed his barista—his very close friend—a heavy look, “when they are a child, when they are drunk, and when they are angry.”

          Silence echoed between them—a silence in which Kuroo had no issue leaving between them until all the gears clicked in Kageyama’s brain. The younger male was smart, but dense. And sometimes a little slow. His heart was always in the right place though, so Kuroo didn’t make fun of him for it. At least, not much.

          “I need to apologize.” Kageyama whispered in horror, a frown etched deeply into his face.

          With a bark of laughter, Kuroo sat back in his barstool and grinned, “Well that much was obvious.”

* * *

 

          _To:_[ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_](mailto:Kuroo_T169@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _kenmasemail9@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail9@gmail.com)

_Subject: Hello_

_I’m unsurprised that Bokuto made your email. What does surprise me is that this was only a few years ago and not something you did on the spur of the moment in your freshman year of college. I do hope you have a work email—_

          Kuroo almost had to shut his laptop at the sheer _cuteness_ that was seeping from this email. It was the first email Kenma had been able to send him, about two weeks into his year-long rehab program.

          _—because this is just. Not something I would give out to business partners._

_Sorry I haven’t written to you earlier. I just now am having the time to sit down for a bit to type this out, but I’ve been meaning to write you for a while. I wanted to thank you for this, for paying for this._

_I don’t think I can ever repay you. One day I might have the money to give back to you—if you accept it that is—but I don’t think it is possible to repay you in what you have sacrificed to help me. Money and time being the more obvious two. So thank you._

_It’s been fairly good here. The doctors are nice, the staff is welcoming. They push me to talk about what it was like on drugs while still respecting the fact that I won’t really talk all that much. The other people here aren’t half bad either. I’m rooming with this other male, but I can’t recall his name. Not that I particularly care to learn it. He’s nice enough, but he is rather loud. And it’s not like Hinata. It’s…different. I don’t know how to explain it._

_I’ll write to you again when I get the chance. Hopefully sooner than later. Have a good rest of your day._

_\--Kenma_

* * *

 

          Kuroo hadn’t had his fingers fly across his keyboard this fast since he last made a bestseller. Which, to be honest, was exactly what he was hoping to do with this idea, but the thought was refreshing all the same.

          This had potential. It was fresh, a new spin on the ol’ mystery department. It was by him—Kuroo Tetsurou—so it was bound to be at least slightly well received. Even if it did flop, he wasn’t concerned. Writing was a passion that happened to make him money. If he ever wanted out he could do it. Take up a full time job working under Akaashi and call it a life.   

          But it wasn’t the life he really wanted for himself. So for all intents and purposes, he hoped this book became another one of his ‘critically acclaimed novels’.

* * *

 

          “How are you living in such an empty house?” Bokuto commented one day, “Honestly, Kenma made it so much livelier.”

          Kuroo didn’t say anything as he leaned against his best friend, sipping at his beer as they waited for Akaashi to come by. Bokuto had finished work before his boyfriend, and said boyfriend had waved him on so that they _both_ were late to hang out with Kuroo. Which was something Kuroo greatly appreciated. It was lonely without Kenma. Only two months in and he was ready to have the blond back in his arms. This time for good.

          “Thanks for rubbing it in, man. It’s not like I wonder that daily.” Kuroo grumbled, smacking his friend’s thigh in mock anger.

          “Shit, dude. I didn’t realize,” Bokuto took a swig out of his own beer bottle his _sorry_ muffled around the lip of the bottle. Kuroo just shrugged and followed his bff’s example of drinking more beer.

          “You and Akaashi good again?” he asked after a nice bout of companionable silence.

          “Are we— _oh_. Halloween. Yeah, better I guess.” Bokuto laughed easily, his body shaking as he did so. Kuroo, curious as always, twisted his body around so he could look at his friend, “I mean, it was just miscommunication, honestly.” A wistful sigh, “He’s so cute when he’s angry.”

          Silence.

          Huffing, Kuroo hit his friend _again_ and scowled, “And…” he prompted, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

          Bokuto gave him a look from above the lip of his beer bottle, “Why would I? It was between us and now it’s resolved?” Kuroo was tempted to say _‘because I’m curious and your best friend’_ but only let out an annoyed sigh and settled back into the curve of Bokuto’s body, “We’re better now, so that’s really all that matters.”

          “That’s true,” it really _was_ all that mattered. If anything ever happened between Bokuto and Akaashi, Kuroo wasn’t sure what he would do for the sake of they were two of his closest friends.

          “Besides!” Bokuto chirped, “tonight—or this weekend rather—isn’t to tell you all about what happened with us, but keep your house all nice and cozy and warm so you don’t get lonely.”

          Before Kuroo could reply, he heard the front door unlock and open. Moments later a disheveled Akaashi appeared in the living room, a slight smile on his face, and a bouquet of spring flowers in his hands.

          “Ah! You made it Akaashi,” Bokuto shifted to move but Kuroo didn’t want his warm curve of human to disappear just yet, so with a low sound of distress, he leaned heavily on Bokuto’s side, grunting a laugh when his owl-like friend ceased moving.

          Akaashi watched the exchange with a roll of his eyes before he settled them on Kuroo, “These are for you,” he said in his normal deadpan tone, “I’m going to go put them in a vase, is that okay?”

          At Kuroo’s silent nod, Akaashi disappeared from his view. As soon as Kuroo heard the stoic raven shuffle around in the kitchen, he turned around to hug Bokuto, grumbling that his friends were idiots.

          Bokuto only laughed at him and hugged him tightly, pressing a kiss to his temple.

          Kuroo had the best friends in the universe, he was sure of it.  


	15. Life is for Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As my head just aches,_   
> _When I think of,_   
> _The things that I shouldn't have done._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah no this isnt a big A/N note or anything just? i didnt want to deal with an entire year and lovely LOVELY Alessia from the hqnet skype group im in was like 'use emails??' and i was like 'no??' but then i was like 'okay yeah fine b/c i dont want to write a full year into one chapter and have it be like 4k or smth' so. there u go
> 
> this less than 1k piece of shIT. 
> 
> enjoy it. i'll try to update soon but??????????? let's plan for a chapter a month. yeah

_To:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_Subject: re: Hey_

_Why did you change the subject there was nothing wrong with ‘hello’? Anyways, regardless of that. Therapy is going great. Kind of? I can’t say too much while I’m here, but it’s a little weird. The people are nice, but I really don’t like saying too much in group meetings. It makes me uncomfortable. Luckily there is a psychologist, or whatever they are, that will talk to us one on one. I talk to her._

_We sit in classes for 8 hours every day. I assume that is what high school is like._

_\--Kenma_

_To:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_Subject: re:re: Hello_

_There, happy now? I’m glad you’re settling in! Man I have some shit to tell you though. So Bokuto and Akaashi came over, right? I mean they are doing that a lot b/c they think im lonely. I’m not. Im working on a book and they just keep. Coming. Over. Idk what they think they are doing but its not helping._

_Except maybe it is? I’m not sure, but I enjoy their company. Though Bokuto is too loud and Akaashi makes_ noise _when he cooks, did you know that. It’s cute as fuck, but when I’m getting them writing juices flowing everything and anything that isn’t what I want to hear, or the ideas bouncing in my head, I hate. So sadly I have snapped at them both. Several times._

_Anyways, the two of them were over and we played Mario Kart like we always do, right? And for once Akaashi **didn’t**_ _beat Bokuto. We were all floored. Like it took us all a few seconds to realize that yeah, that was Bokuto in 3 rd place and Akaashi in 4th. (I’m in 1st always b/c im just that good. And I own the game, come on we used to play it sometimes)_

_I swear the cheering Bokuto then subjected me and Akaashi to was ear-drum bursting. And unluckily for us it lasted several minutes._

_To:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_Subject: re:re:re Hello_

_Thank you, was that hard?_

_Nothing much to report here. Just…everyday stuff. I’ll write when I can._

_To:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_Subject: H ey_

_Sorry I haven’t emailed you back in a couple weeks. We got swamped at work, and on top of the book…well not to say this became a backburner, I still thought about you, but I was often too tired to type coherent sentences so I opted not to email._

_About a week ago, Bokuto’s mother died. She was old, it was totally time for her to go, but the funeral and burying his mother just? It hurt. She was like a mom to me I guess. I’ll miss her. Bokuto is all sorts of messed up, but he’s been avoiding me. Same with Akaashi. Maybe it’s their time to mourn, I won’t intrude on that. Still, I wonder if they forgot that I’m one of them too._

_To:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_Subject: none_

_I miss you._

_To:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_Subject: re: none_

_I miss you too. Six more months. You can do it! Fight on Kenma!!_

_To:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_Subject: none_

_So what did you do for Halloween? Nothing new here._

_To:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_Subject: re: none_

_Nothing actually. We didn’t play truth or dare this year, as weird as that was. Just sat around with Akaashi and Bokuto—Lev and Yaku were on vacation hence the no party—and watched some movies. Not even the scary kind. I think we are getting old._

_To:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_Subject: re:re: none_

_It’s because you are_

_To:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_Subject: re:re:re: none_

_Wow #rude!!!! :/_

_To:_ [ _kenmasemail@gmail.com_ ](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)

_From:_ [ _Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com_ ](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)

_Subject: !!_

_I just put a book in the mail. It’s the quickest one I have ever wrote! I dedicated it to u, though I can take it out if that upsets you. I would tell you about it, but I’m sure you can just google search it and figure out the summary. I cant tell you anything else though! I hope you like it!_

_Three more months!!_

_To:[Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)_

_From:[kenmasemail@gmail.com](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)_

_Subject: re: !!_

_I loved it, thank you. I can see where you took from personal experience, and I’m sorry to say that I had a major hand in that. It made me think about some things, how I treated you. How we handled this—how you handled **me**. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If those feelings in the book are the same you had to watch me go through, if his girlfriend’s feelings are some sort of reflection of yours…sorry, I rather do this in person. _

_2 months left, looking forward to home._

_To:[kenmasemail@gmail.com](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)_

_From:[Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)_

_Subject: 1 month_

_My bed misses you :T_

_To:[Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)_

_From:[kenmasemail@gmail.com](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)_

_Subject: re: 1 month_

_25 days. Will your bed be able to reacquaint itself with me?_

_If it is any condolence to your bed, it is much more comfortable there than it is here._

_To:[kenmasemail@gmail.com](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)_

_From:[Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)_

_Subject: re:re: 20 days_

_Sassy Kenma, this is new :O_

_To:[Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com](mailto:Kuroo_T-Dawg169@gmail.com)_

__From:[kenmasemail@gmail.com](mailto:kenmasemail@gmail.com)__

_Subject: Flight Number and time_

_I’ll be departing two weeks from this Saturday at noon. I should arrive back about 5pm your time. Flight number: 34F on Coastal Airlines_


	16. You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If you must wait,_   
>  _Wait for them here in my arms as I shake_   
>  _If you must weep,_   
>  _Do it right here in my bed as I sleep_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE. has it been a month? i think it might be? i'm not sure. school and work and military rule my life rn, as does love live. Srsly. dont. do not get love live. and if u DO (b/c u didnt listen u suck) DO NOT SPEND MONEY FOR LOVE GEMS F UCKING. 
> 
> enjoy this chapter!! there is cute cuddles and snuggles and make outs. cute? isnt the right word but its cute to ME so w/e.
> 
> ALSO THIS IS HELLA EARLY BUT THIS IS UR BIRTHDAY PRESENT CHAPTER CRYCE. F UCKING. happy 7 days early bday.

          Kuroo shifted from one foot to another, tension creeping up his body as the seconds ticked by.

          And then minutes.

          Every second felt like a minute, every minute an hour. But in just five more minutes, Kenma was bound to walk out of that security gate, bags in hand and Kuroo _hoped_ he was smiling. Kuroo hoped that Kenma would drop his bags and run into his arms.

          But on second thought he didn’t want that to happen because what if he didn’t catch Kenma? What if they fell to the floor in a heap? Would Kenma be mad at him?

          It had been a year. A year since he saw those golden eyes, a year since he felt Kenma’s soft skin under his fingertips.

          God, he missed Kenma so much it hurt.

          And then he came out.

          And Kuroo was pretty sure he forgot how to breathe. Luckily his body reminded itself that breathing was necessary for life, and if he died than Kenma wouldn’t be in front of him anymore. _That_ made him take in a huge inhale, letting it out slowly as a grin stretched his lips, arms opening as the blond neared him. “Welcome home, Kenma,” he greeted with a soft laugh.

          Kenma just stared at him for a moment before Kuroo heard the thud of Kenma’s carry-on hit the floor, and suddenly his arms had a warm body nestled between them, with equally warm arms wrapped around his middle.

          “I’m home,” were the muffled words against his chest, and Kuroo just tightened his grip around the smaller boy, ducking his head just a little bit to press it into blond and black hair.

          God, he really had missed Kenma.

* * *

 

          It was weird. A year without Kenma in his house made Kuroo realize how lonely he was. That having Kenma lounging on the couch, eating chips or playing on his phone, was something he had grown way too used to in the small amount of time that Kenma had been in his house.

          In a way now, it was _their_ house now. Kuroo still paid the mortgage—there was no way he was letting Kenma help out with that—but Kenma more often than not did the cleaning. It wasn’t like Kuroo _asked_ him to. In fact Kuroo was pretty sure he had babied Kenma into staying in bed, peppered him every morning for a straight _week_ with soft kisses.

          But apparently Kenma was used to always doing _something_. So when Kuroo dove back into long days at work, and stressful nights with writer’s block, Kenma took up the small amounts of cleaning and most of the cooking. When Kuroo had protested, Kenma only rose up on his toes and kissed him silent, a small smile on his lips when they parted.

* * *

 

          It was to be expected that Kenma had cravings still. A year couldn’t cure him entirely—hell Kuroo was pretty certain that a _lifetime_ couldn’t cure Kenma entirely. So it was unsurprising to Kuroo when two months after Kenma came home, Kuroo was jolted awake by cold, clammy hands.

          “I need you,” it was whispered, it was loud in the silence of the room. It was broken; it was _needy_.

Kuroo heard the words, felt cold skin against his, but didn’t think anything of it. Kenma was just having a bad dream. Rolling over, Kuroo wrapped his arm around Kenma’s waist, his lips smacking tiredly. _It’s okay, Kenma_ he wanted to say, but he was too tired. His brain was too slow, his motor cortex wasn’t letting him move his mouth like he wanted. But it was fine. He could just go back to sleep, he could just…

          “Please,” Kenma’s voice sounded again in the darkness, “please…Kur…” it trailed off into a sob, a sob that shook the body pressed against his, “ _Kuroo please_ ,”

          Sweaty hands pawed at his chest again, pushing at him, nails catching against his skin every so often, “Kuroo, Kuroo, Kuroo,” it was like a mantra that Kuroo could hear in his half dreaming mind, “Kuroo, I need you to get up. Kuroo, I need _help_ ,” it was the strongest of the shoves yet, though by normal standards it was still pretty weak, and it jolted Kuroo enough to make him open his eyes, blinking sleepily a few times as Kenma’s tear stained face came into view.

          A breathy sob came from the blond boy and Kuroo groaned loudly, rolling over and raising to his arms so that Kenma was caged between them. “Hey,” he whispered, ducking his head down to press it gently against Kenma’s. He could feel the tremors that still racked through Kenma’s body, “You’re okay,” he continued, fighting back a yawn, “You’re okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

          “Kuroo,” Kenma babbled on, and Kuroo hummed in response, feeling arms wrap around his neck and shaking fingers curl into his hair, “I’m scared, it hurts so badly, I know I don’t need it I just. I just. I feel like I do, it feels…”

          Kuroo hushed him, shifting his weight around so he could press his lips chastely against Kenma’s, “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” he repeated between soft kisses, “You’re fine, you’re okay, I’m here.”

          Fingers tightened in his hair, as Kuroo continued to press soft kisses against Kenma’s wet face, each press of his lips lingering a little bit longer every time. Slowly Kenma’s quiet sobbing turned into uneven breathing and then fell into a much calmer state. Kuroo would have assumed Kenma had fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the hitches in his breath every now and again.

          “Better?” a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

          “Better,” an answering sigh as fingers disentangled themselves from his hair, only to readjust into a much looser grip, “not great but,” his breath hitched again, body tensing as a tremor passed through him. Kuroo let his lips linger on Kenma’s lips for a moment before trailing soft smooches along his jaw and down his neck.

          Kuroo continued this treatment of kissing all the skin he could reach without having to move, listening to Kenma’s breath even out before it picked up again, this time for a different reason.

          “Kenma,” Kuroo muttered against the blond’s collarbone, letting his tongue part his lips to lick at the expanse of skin, fighting the urge to shiver at the velvety sigh that echoed in the room. He repeated the action, groaning low in his throat as fingers once more tightened in his hair, “Kenma, we should go back to bed,”

          “…yeah,” was the late reply, breathy. Kuroo kissed the damp skin and trailed back up to his neck, sucking lightly at the skin, “ _yeah_ ,” Kenma said again, hips tilting up and breath leaving him in one big exhale. Kuroo bit into the soft skin, canting his hips down as Kenma jerked them up again. The hiss that escaped him filled the air around them while the sharp gasp from Kenma left Kuroo’s blood boiling.

          “Fuck,” he groaned against Kenma’s neck, pushing his hips down and dragging them up, hot breaths fanning against pale skin.

          Little pleas filled the air around them, bounced off the walls and echoed loud in Kuroo’s ears. Kuroo shifted his weight to one arm, letting his other drop to grip at Kenma’s waist, slowing their hasty movements into something less rushed and more _sensual_.

          At the slow drag of their erections, Kuroo heard Kenma let out a content sigh. Glancing up to find the blond’s face in the dark, Kuroo could make out his mouth—parted as he gasped for air—and eyes—lidded and dark, and Kuroo had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

          Kuroo shifted the arm that was keeping him up, groaning half in annoyance because his muscles were cramping and half in pleasure as Kenma tilted his hips up and up and up, dragging them against Kuroo’s as sweet sighs spilled from his lips.

         “Kenma—I,” Kuroo’s hips stuttered, his grip on Kenma’s hip tightening.

          “…flip over,” Kenma said between soft gasps, letting Kuroo’s neck go in favor of pushing gently at his shoulder, “I’ll…I’ll just… _oh_ ,” tensing for a brief moment before gasping. After a few seconds, Kenma resumed pushing at Kuroo’s shoulders, “Flip over,”

          With an amused snort, Kuroo rolled onto his back, groaning when Kenma hastily climbed into his lap, his knee narrowly missing his crotch as he slung it over Kuroo’s waist.

          “Good?” he asked, hands settling on Kenma’s hips, fingers digging firmly into the flesh. Kuroo only got a small nod before Kenma rocked his hips forward.

          Kuroo could feel the slide of Kenma’s dick against his own, could feel the way Kenma shuddered under the grip Kuroo had on his hips.

          Kenma let his body sag forward, let Kuroo catch his lips in his messy kiss, let Kuroo trail one of his hands to paw at his ass before slipping under the band of his pajama bottoms and kneading the flesh.

          “ _Oh_ ,” Kenma pulled away from their sloppy kisses to gasp, high and needy. His hips stuttered, body arching into Kuroo’s hot touch.

          “Okay?” Kuroo applied more pressure against Kenma’s ass, fingers playing at the sensitive skin above his crack.

          Pressing his face into the curve of Kuroo’s neck, Kenma mewled, pushing his hips back against Kuroo’s fingers, “ _yeah_ ,” he breathed out, breath hitching as Kuroo dipped his fingers between his cheeks, “I…y _es_ —I,” He moaned again, parting his mouth and letting his hot breath fan against Kuroo’s neck, “I’m close,” he breathed out, “I’m—Kuroo,” he whined, needy and hot and—

          Kuroo slid his other hand around to slip under Kenma’s bottom and gripped his ass tight, helping the boy rock against him in quick thrusts, their gasping breaths mingling in the room.

          “ _Shit_ —”

          “ _Oh fuc—_ ”

* * *

 

          “Kenma, get off,” he groans a few days later, so very tempted to just shove the blond boy onto the floor, “I have to pee.”

          Kenma, predictably, did not move, only glancing at Kuroo from the corner of his eyes, “Okay,” was all he said in reply.

          “ _Get up_ , I have to pee,” he tried again, but once _again_ , Kenma didn’t move, “Kenma, I swear to god—”

          “Let me finish shaking all these trees and talk to Sable again, I need that QR code machine,” Kuroo groaned, loud and annoyed because he had to _pee_ and Kenma had said that an hour ago, before he went and saved his game and changed the damn date, only to redo the day all over again.

          Why had Kuroo bought him a 3DS again? Why did he honestly thing it was a good idea? Was he drunk? Literally, what the fuck. But as he had relented an hour ago against his better wishes, Kuroo once again settles back against the couch, this time with an annoyed groan and a much _fuller_ bladder.

          A few minutes pass, though to Kuroo it feels somewhat like several hours, his bladder getting more and more uncomfortable. It wasn’t like Kenma was helping, laying against his chest, body spread out against his.

          “Done,” Kenma quietly announces, gold eyes staring at Kuroo. And he _doesn’t move_.

          “Kenma,” Kuroo groans, the temptation to just shove the blond off him growing rapidly with every passing second, “What do you want from me. I just want to pee.”

          He doesn’t laugh, but there is something pleased about his expression that softens Kuroo’s heart (which is saying something, because Kuroo’s pretty sure Kenma turned his heart to mush already). With a small snort, Kenma stretched up to press a lingering kiss against his lips before he pushed off Kuroo (narrowing missing pressing against his bladder, what the _fuck_ , Kenma) and curling up against the other side of the couch.

          “You can pee now,” he says, like it’s some sort of honor that he got off Kuroo in the first place. The sad thing is, is that Kuroo knows it is.

          “Brat,” he grumbles, heaving himself off the couch and moving quickly to the bathroom because holy fuck, each step jars his bladder just _so_ and it hurts. Dammit it, Kenma.

* * *

 

          Kenma groans against Kuroo’s lips and Kuroo can feel a shiver pass through him as he parts Kenma’s lips with his tongue. He sucks softly on Kenma’s bottom lip, nipping gently at the skin, swallowing Kenma’s quiet whines.

          “Please,” he breaths out, fingers reaching out to grip at Kuroo’s shirt, “I need it,” his grip tightens and Kuroo is pretty sure those wrinkles are not going to come out easy.

          “Not yet,” his breath fans against Kenma’s wet lips, his free hand cupping Kenma’s jaw, “You haven’t kissed me for _three days_. This is payback.”

          “But,” Kenma whines again, high and needy, the hand not wrinkling Kuroo’s shirt, reaching up to attempt to grab at his 3DS, “there’s a fishing tournament going on!”

          Kuroo just mimics him before pulling Kenma into another kiss, laughing against barely pouting lips.


	17. Flightless Bird, American Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Have I found you?_   
>  _Flightless bird, jealous, weeping_   
>  _Or lost you?_   
>  _American mouth_   
>  _Big pill looming_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SHIT. UPDATED TWICE IN LIKE NOT ONLY ONE MONTH, BUT LIKE IN A WEEK SPAN. 
> 
> cryce and the squad of nerds im in (like jmeme, and BP and Hinata) are actually really motivational so like KUDOS TO ALL OF U honestly. ur all really dumb nerds who are helpful. 
> 
> i dont kno when i'm going to update again b/c of military and work and shit

          It’s late at night once again, and Kuroo this time wakes up as soon as Kenma bolts upright in bed. Sitting up slower than his bed-partner, Kuroo wraps the blond in a tired hug and pulls him back onto the bed.

          “It hurts,” Kenma mumbles, body shaking in Kuroo’s grasp.

          “I know,” Kuroo whispers back, his hand rubbing up and down Kenma’s back soothingly, “it’s gonna be okay.”

          A shudder passes through Kenma, his muscles tensing before the blond goes boneless against him, “It _hurts_ ,” his voice is thick with unshed tears, Kuroo can just sense it.

          So he lets go of Kenma and gets out of bed, hushing the blond when he cries out. Walking around the bed, Kuroo scoops Kenma up into his arms, pressing a kiss against his damp cheek, and carries him out of the room.

          “Where…?”

          “Living room,” Kuroo answered the unfinished question, depositing the crying blond boy on the couch, pulling away with a kiss to his forehead, “I’m going to make some green tea, just. Stay here. Okay?” Kuroo rubbed a hand over his face as he stood up, “Kenma,” he asked again, “do you understand?”

          “I…yeah,” Kenma nodded, and Kuroo gave a small smile before he made his way to the kitchen, hastily making two mugs of green tea—one with a normal amount of sugar and the other with enough to kill a small child—before stepping back into the dark living room.

          After setting down the two mugs on the side table next to the couch, Kuroo settled himself onto the cushions, laughing softly when Kenma wasted no time in straddling his waist, “Hey,” he spoke softly, one hand running up and down Kenma’s back, “do you want tea now or let it seep a bit longer?”

          “Lil’ bit more…please,” Kenma tucked his head into Kuroo’s shoulder and sighed hard, body shivering every now and then, “can you just hold me?”

          Kuroo hummed his affirmative, pulling the blond boy close to him, murmuring soft things against the blond of Kenma’s hair.

          They ended up falling asleep like that, their teas forgotten.

          Kuroo ended up have to call Akaashi to tell him he wasn’t going to make it to work on time, only getting a small scolding (by Akaashi standards) before he was let off the hook for the day.

* * *

 

          “You played on my account.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, and Kuroo couldn’t help but grin into his morning coffee, watching as Kenma frowned deeply at his 3DS, “you shook trees. He’s _stung_.”

         Kuroo snorted and gave a smirk, despite feeling a little bad about it all. He just wanted to see what Kenma was having so much fun with, and while the game did have its fun points—it was relaxing and the villagers were nice and fishing was actually _fun_ —Kuroo couldn’t understand how Kenma could play it for as many hours as he did, “I literally watch you shake every single tree in your town.”

          “But I run away from the bees,” more frowning.

          “They’re fast, how the hell did you expect me, a new player, to outrun them?” Kuroo took another sip of his coffee, snorting at the furrow that developed between Kenma’s brows.

          “By not playing on my account of course. You could have easily started a new account.” Kenma went quiet for a little longer, the gentle music that only Animal Crossing could create becoming the only sound in the room.

          “Don’t shake trees,” Kenma looked up at him with a deeper frown, and Kuroo just laughed and took the few steps that brought them closer together, “I’m serious, I don’t like the weird swollen eye thing.”

          Kuroo glanced down to see Kenma’s pretty little villager wearing an eyepatch, “you can’t even see the stupid bee sting.”

          “His _other_ eye, Kuroo,” Kenma sighed and Kuroo straightened up with a huff, “It’s totally in pain. Look at how it droops. Look at what you did to my character.” Kenma shook the DS in his hands, grumbling lowly to himself as he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

          “Uh…”

          “Don’t play on my account!” Kenma shouted from across the house, before silence settled over the house once more.

          Kuroo took a small sip of his coffee before he made his way to the living room, snagging his laptop from the coffee table.

          It was about fifteen minutes later when he heard a small sound of distress come from his bedroom, but he ignored it in favor of finishing out the scene he was on as quickly as possible. His actions seemed to be futile as only moments later he heard Kenma’s feet padding through the house.

          “You,” he shook the DS in one hand, a crease between his brows and a pout on his lips, “you rearranged my _house_.”

          Kuroo just threw his head back and laughed, coughing when Kenma grabbed a couch pillow and hit him repeatedly with it.

* * *

          Two in the morning found the both of them in front of the television, the bright blue light flooding the otherwise dark room. Kenma’s face was tucked into Kuroo’s neck as it normally was on nights like these. Kenma shuddered against Kuroo, breaths puffing unevenly against Kuroo’s neck.

          _In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!_

          Sobs paused for a moment as Kenma quietly laughed, shoulders shaking for an entirely different reason. There was silence for a moment—Kenma focusing on his breathing, and Kuroo mentally making fun of the show—before Kenma wiggled in Kuroo’s grip, shifting himself around so that he was sitting in Kuroo’s lap instead of straddling it.

          “I like the 90’s animation better,” Kenma muttered, tilting his head up to glance at Kuroo, “but the new one…it’s doesn’t have as many fillers.”

          Catching sight of short nails scratching over skin, Kuroo calmly pulled the offending hand away, curling his fingers around both of Kenma’s hands. Muscles tensed at the action, Kenma turning to face Kuroo with a guilt look on his face, but there was going to no apologies tonight. Turning his head just so, Kuroo kissed Kenma’s temple, keeping his lips there until Kenma sagged back against him. Better, much better.

          _Usako….Mamo-chan…._

          “Can they get any cheesier,” Kuroo complained later on in the episode, huffing when Kenma swatted at his knee and hushed him.

          They ended up falling asleep on the couch about an hour later after Kenma complained that the light hurt his eyes. In the end Kenma is once again straddling Kuroo, though this time his head is pillowed on Kuroo’s chest. And while it’s uncomfortable for the raven, Kuroo manages to fall asleep a while later, a small smile on his lips.

* * *

 

          Two months has Kenma sitting on the couch, a cup of coffee in his hands despite the late hour. The blond is dressed in loose plaid pajamas and one of Kuroo’s shirts, but his hair isn’t as messy as it normally is, and for once Kuroo can’t see the light bags that are always around Kenma’s eyes.

         “Work?” he asks as he settles himself next to Kenma. At the small nod, Kuroo just hums.

          Silence.

          “You don’t mind, do you?” It shocks him, the fact that Kenma sounds so worried. Like Kuroo is going to get mad at him for not asking his permission first. Like Kuroo is going to get rid of him.

          Pulling his lips into a smile, Kuroo takes the coffee mug from Kenma’s thin fingers and sets it on the coffee table in front of them before he presses a kiss against Kenma’s cheek, “Of course not.” A shrug of his shoulders, “I’m not your keeper—well I mean I kind of _am_ , but—and you are your own person. I don’t mind you working.” Kenma’s relieved smile makes Kuroo heart _hurt_. “Just…be careful okay?”

          “…Yeah, will do.”

          They talk about Kenma’s job a little longer—like if he was going to be dancing right away (no), and when he did get to dance again if Kuroo could see him (yes). After that, and another reassuring kiss from Kuroo, Kenma left the house, tossing a ‘see you in the morning’ over his shoulder.

          Kuroo just shooed him out before preparing a small snack for Kenma to eat when he got home.

          It was definitely going to change their daily routine—this whole Kenma back to working thing—but Kuroo saw no reason to fuss about it. Dancing and working at the club made Kenma happy, and seeing him happy made Kuroo happy, and therefore there was no reason to tell the blond no. It was as simple as that.


End file.
